No one
by TheNerdGlaze
Summary: Post ADWD. On the way to Casterly Rock, the Second Sons' ship is destroyed by a storm. Tyrion survives the shipwreck but loses his memory. What's our favourite Lannister going to do when he doesn't know he's a Lannister? [Rating changed in chapter 10]
1. Chapter 1

Tyrion had always thought that the sea looked pretty much the same everywhere.

Now he could see he was wrong.

Even in the middle of the immense stretch of water, he could see that he was getting closer and closer to home.

They travelled along the coasts of Dorne, and now he could recognize the shores of the Reach.

The occasional harbours in which the long ship stopped to provide food and unsalted water looked more and more like those he had seen for all his youth; the people started to have more familiar features; he recognized the similarities in the houses, the trees, the clothes.

Even the seabirds he could see from the ship had common, everyday colours. After the exotic animals he had spotted in the Summer Islands, they were strangely comforting.

-Starting to feel at home, Imp?- said a mocking voice from behind him –I like this place. It feels very… lordly.-

Tyrion sighed. The more they were getting closer to Lannisport, the more Brown Ben would remind him of his debts.

_"One hundred thousand golden dragons, fifty hides of fertile land, a castle, and a lordship."_

As if he could forget.

-You are welcome to set your seat right here.- Tyrion gestured towards the sea - I've heard the ground below the water is very fertile, most apt to grow seaweeds. How would you like a crab for your sigil?-

Brown Ben smiled amiably, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

-I'd prefer a sealion. Or I might just get a lion, one day.-

Tyrion did his best to ignore the greedy light in his eyes.

- Well, let's make it a hundred hides of this marvellous wet land, then. I feel generous today.-

Brown Ben Plumm was not an easy man to fool.

When Tyrion had signed the stack of notes to become a Second Son, he thought that the chances of actually having to pay them back were very meagre.

Now that the time was coming, however, he didn't feel so optimistic. Were the vaults in Casterly Rock still full of gold? He wasn't that sure. All the remaining Lannisters from Casterly Rock had been living in King's Landing since Robert Baratheon's death. Who kept the place in the last years? Had the area been pillaged? He had no idea.

Queen Daenerys had taken King's Landing very easily. War is easy when you have a big dragon on your side, mused Tyrion.

But then again, that wasn't strictly true.

Oh, Drogon was impressive, no doubt of it. They hardly ever fought any battles, since the very sight of the dragon was enough to set any enemy on the run.

And it was lethal: but it was a burden as much as a weapon.

"_Sorcery is like a sword without a hilt_" he had read once, in an ancient battered book in Winterfell, an old saying from the North.

Tyrion had always been fascinated with dragons, but nothing could prepare him to the sight of Drogon.

When he first saw it, he stood speechless, in awe in front of the beast. Drogon was scary, ferocious, terrifying: but so… beautiful, too. It was like looking into an erupting volcano.

In the terrible moment in which he found himself in front of the wild dragon, he didn't run like anyone else. He almost didn't manage to think at all. All fear evaporated from him, as he stood mesmerized in front of the beast, and stretched a hand towards it.

And the dragon didn't kill him. He often thought that that was the only reason why Daenerys didn't execute him in the first place.

Afterwards, his love for dragons, and his culture about them proved very useful to the young queen.

But even if the Queen had managed to find a way to use the dragon and make it coexist with her, sometimes Drogon's burst of rage could set a village on fire before Daenerys could arrive and calm it down.

"_Sorcery is like a sword with no hilt_." Tyrion remembered "_There is no safe way to grasp it_".

So, Drogon had to stay with Daenerys. If he wanted to claim his birthright to Casterly Rock, he would have to do it the old way, with his fellow brothers in arms.

I seem to have no luck when it comes to sibling, Tyrion thought.

He had no idea of what happened his brother or to his sweet sister. The only Lannister he found alive was Lancel, who had joined the Faith. He didn't look especially happy to see him.

No one was. Those who remembered him looked at him like a demon that had come back to haunt them.

In King's Landing, the smallfolk still talked about an alleged "walk of shame", that apparently Cersei had to do years before.

The tales were many, and they contradicted each other: the queen had to walk naked through the city. No, she had a roughspun robe, but the High Septon whipped her. Whipped? No, she had been tortured in the cells of the Sept of Baelor.

All tales though agreed that the punishment had humiliated the queen beyond imagination.

Tyrion thought about sending a roasted suckling pig to the High Septon to thank him, but he was dead. He feasted alone on the pig, eventually.

His thought were interrupted by the arrival of Kasporio.

-The Captain says there's going to be a storm.- he warned Brown Ben.

-Stay below, Lord Imp.- said the latter -We don't want you to die before you can claim your birthright, do we?-

There was a fine line of black clouds on the horizon, but they didn't look very dangerous.

He went into his cabin and poured himself a generous amount of wine.

A couple of hours and too many flasks later, Tyrion understood how wrong he had been.

The ship was tilting and jumping, while the waves crashed at its tull. The thunders boomed from above.

Tyrion stood hidden in his cabin until he heard a smash and, soon after that, he saw water riveting through the doorstep.

_We're sinking_, he realised, his mind half-numbed by the wine.

He opened the door and was invested by a wave in the corridor. He ran upstairs, and fell many times, because of the abrupt movements of the ship, and because of his unsteady step.

All the ship crew and all the Second Sons were on the deck, trying to fix the sails that were spinning on the mast uncontrollably.

_We're all going to die_.

He saw Brown Ben, shouting orders to the crew.

-Ben Plumm!- he screamed. The man turned to face him. –It seems I'm not going to pay this debt after all!- he shouted merrily - They will have to find a new saying, something like "A Lannister usually pays his debts"!- The thought made him want to laugh.

Brown Ben looked frightened, and Tyrion laughed out loud. But suddenly everyone was looking at him with a scared expression, and he realised that something was wrong.

He turned just in time to see the huge wave hit the boat.

And then everything went blank.

Cold. He was cold.

It was all that he could feel, and the first thing he could remember.

He wondered if he was dead.

Then the pain hit him: it was everywhere, in his head, in his back, and especially in his legs, a pain so piercing that took what was left of his breath away.

He opened his eyes. There was so much light; everything was white.

It was painful even to keep his eyes open.

But then he distinguished the water, and the sand, and the rocks next to him.

He was on a shore… but why? What was he doing there?

He closed his eyes. Perhaps it was not so important after all. He didn't care. He just wanted to sleep.

After what could have been minutes, or hour, he felt something in his side. Something… something poking.

He groaned. He half-opened an eye, and found himself staring inside another pair of eyes. They were the same blue-green colour as the sea, and they were narrowing in concentration, studying his face.

-Motheeer!- shouted a voice, very close to him –This one's alive!-

He blacked out again.

-Why is he so short?-

-He's a dwarf, that's why.-

-Oh.-

He heard low, excited voices next to him. They bothered him. He just wanted to sleep. But he was so thirsty, he realised.

-But what is a dwarf?-

-It means that he's a short man.-

A moment's pause.

-So… he's short because he's a short man? That doesn't answer my question.-

-It means….it's because… just shut up, will you?-

-Ce-el!-

He needed water. He had no choice: he opened his eyes.

He was not on the beach anymore: he found himself in a warm room, lying on some hay under a stack of covers. It was quite dark, the only light coming from a fireplace.

He saw three children beside his bed, staring at him: a boy, who could have been eleven or twelve, and a girl, probably a little younger. There was also a toddler with them (he couldn't figure out if it was a boy or a girl), who looked at him with big round eyes. The girl's face lit up when he looked at her.

-You're awake!- she exclaimed –Do you remember me? I was the one that found you on the beach. What happened to your ship?-

He frowned. Why was she talking so loud? His head hurt. His left leg was fixed to a wooden support, and it hurt to breathe. He had broken his leg and a couple of ribs, he judged.

He opened his mouth, but found he didn't manage to utter a word. His mouth was dry.

-I…water…- he managed to say eventually.

She handed him a cup, continuing to chat happily:-We found other people but everybody was dead. I thought you were dead too, but then I poked you with a stick, and you made this noise, like "arr…", so I knew that you were not dead, and then Mother came and she said…-

He tried to lift the cup of water, but it was so difficult. His hands were weak and felt numb.

Also moving his legs was painful.

The boy interrupted the girl's rant:- Shut up. Mother said we shouldn't talk to him. Here, drink.- He helped him raise the cup and drink. His movements were brusque and he looked at him with suspicion, but the water was such a relief that he couldn't complain.

-Tha…thank you.- he said.

-What's your name?- asked the girl.

-My name is…- he stopped abruptly and frowned –My name…-

Surely he remembered his name, didn't he? How couldn't he?

And yet the memory escaped him. It was on the tip of his tongue, just a hair out of his mind's reach.

He realised that his memories were a blank book. Who was he? Where did he come from? Why was he on a ship?

-I… I don't know.- he confessed eventually.


	2. Chapter 2

The girl's name was Rosie, he learned, and she was six. Her brother was Ceryl and the toddler, another girl, was Leya.

Rosie talked a lot: Ceryl instead seemed torn between wariness and curiosity, and only made half-hearted attempts to make the sister be quiet.

They were on Foul Island, which apparently was next to another bigger island, The Arbor.

-The Arbor.- he repeated –Arbor's gold. That's a fancy wine. The island makes the best wines in all Westeros.- he said slowly.

-A-bor!- repeted Leya, climbing on the bed to observe him better.

-Yes! We make wine too!- Rosie said happily –Maybe you are from the Arbor.- she suggested.

He tried to remember… it didn't ring many bells, expect for the wine.

-Foul Island?- he repeated.

-It's because of the stinky water.- Ceryl said curtly.

He was fairly sure he never heard about it. It was probably a very small place.

He realised he remembered many things. Westeros, Essos… he remembered maps and sounds, and languages. He knew that the Arbor was on the South-West. He simply didn't know a thing about himself.

He suddenly remembered something that the boy said.

_"He's a dwarf, that's why". _

He was a dwarf. He couldn't stand up on his feet, but he could see that he wasn't much taller than Rosie.

A dwarf. Yes, that felt strangely familiar.

-Do you have a looking glass?- he asked.

They handed it out to him. It was a small piece of mirror, that looked old and full of brown spots.

-Are you sure you want to see your face? You're ugly.- objected Ceryl.

-Why, thank you very much. You're such a gracious host.-he replied.

The boy shrugged:- I thought you'd rather know.-

He looked at his face and he gasped. The boy was not exaggerating.

He had a big scar across his face, and most of his nose was missing. That looked like an old wound.

He also had many recent cuts and bruises, and a black eye, that he could only keep half-open.

_Is this really what I look like? _

It was not a pretty face. Even without a scar, he had a squashed-in face, and mismatched eyes.

_One would say such a face was unforgettable_, he thought bitterly.

-Where is your nose?- the girl asked.

-Nose!- exclaimed the toddler, excited, and touched his face where his nose should have been. She seemed to like the feeling of his scars under her fingers. She didn't look scared, but probably she was too young to realize how frightening he looked.

He feigned worry: -Didn't you find it on the beach?-

Rosie looked alarmed, but the boy just snorted.

-He's making fun of you-

-Yes, I knew.- she said with superiority.

-Where is your mother?- he asked –Isn't it dangerous to leave you kids with a stranger?-

-She said that you're a dwarf with a broken leg, and that you're harmless- said Ceryl, looking at him with disdain -And that if you tried to touch us I should hit you on the head with a pan-

-Such a charming woman. I see who you took your manners after.- he commented.

It was true, though. He doubted he could get up from the bed with that bad leg, and even in that case, Ceryl was easily half a foot taller than he was.

-So, what are you going to do?- Rosie asked –what if you never remember who you are?-

-I will go on the mainland, and maybe I will find someone who remembers me. Or maybe everything will come back on its own.-

He felt like his head was splitting in two and the talk had weakened him.

-Boy, I need to go outside for a piss.-

Rosie giggled:- He said "piss".- she informed her brother.

-Piss!- shouted Leya happily.

That made the kids laugh.

He too found himself grinning despite the headache.

In that moment, the door opened, and a cold voice asked:- What's going on here?-.

It was a woman, the mother of the three children, he understood.

Rosie ran to her and grabbed her by her wrist:- Look Mother!- she said excitedly – He's woken up and he doesn't remember anything, just the wine! And then he said…-

The woman hurried to scoop up Leya from the bed, who hugged her with a cry of delight.

-Ceryl, Rosie, stay away.-

-But Mother…-

-I said, stay away.- She gave them the evil eye, and they stood quietly in a corner.

She then confronted him.

-First of all, I don't want you near my children, is that clear?- she said, in a cold and stern voice –You don't talk to them, you don't listen to them and especially you don't touch them. Understand?-

-Don't look at me, it was your brats who first…- he protested.

-Who are you?- she interrupted him.

-I…- he sighed –I can't tell you at the moment. I…-

-I'm throwing you right back into the ocean if you don't tell me who you are now.-

-But he…- objected Rosie, but the woman gestured her to be silent.

Her eyes were dark, just like her son's, but unlike his, they seemed to lack any warmth.

-I'd make a poor fish bait, small and ugly as I am. You wouldn't even catch a single herring.-

She didn't smile.

-Listen, I don't remember who I am. I think I hit my head.- he patted his head, where there were several lumps –I don't even remember my name.-

-Are you an Ironman?- she asked.

-I can't be sure. But I'm afraid I'm made of a much more delicate material.-

-If you are one of them, I swear I'll…-

-…throw me right back into the ocean, yes, I know- he repeated wearily.

He didn't fear any physical violence from her, but she surely looked ready enough to send him out of the house, and he was too weak to go anywhere.

-Look at me, woman. I'm a dwarf. I don't remember much about the Iron Islands, but it doesn't look like a good place for someone who can't hold a longsword or climb up a mast.-

He wasn't sure he couldn't actually climb when both his legs were intact, but he sensed he wasn't a man of action. He was convinced he wasn't Ironborn, anyway.

She just kept staring at him. For what her face was betraying, she could have been made of stone.

-You don't speak like them.- she finally admitted –You don't sound from the Arbor or from the Reach either.-

-I'm not from this world. I was delivered to your doorstep by the fairies or the imps to grant your wishes.-

Rosie giggled.

-Fine.- the woman said –This is my first wish: I want you out of here by the morrow.-

-But I can't even walk!- he protested.

She shrugged: -Scarcely my problem.-

-You can't send him away!- said Rosie –I found him, he's my friend. I'm the one who says when he leaves!-

-He's not your friend.- Ceryl observed –He doesn't even remember any of his friends.-

-Which in truth makes her my only and best friend in this world, as far as I know.-he said, smiling at the girl.

-Rosie, when you'll have your own house you'll decide who stays and who goes. Until then, we're not keeping strangers in our house. It's dangerous.-

-He's not dangerous! He can't hurt anyone! I don't want him to go!-

-That's not up to you...-

-What if it was Father?- she asked with a defiant tone.

Her mother just stood silent for a moment:-What do you mean?-

-If he wasn't dead… but if he had ended up on some shore, and didn't remember who he was… wouldn't you wish that someone would take care of him?-

-Rosie…- she began, but seemed not to know how to finish the sentence.

She looked suddenly very tired, as if she had aged beyond her years in the blink of an eye.

-Very well- she sighed eventually –Only until he can walk again.-

-Thank you, my lady.- he said -I will be the quietest, the most lovely, the most exquisite guest you could ever...-

-No talking.- she urged, but he found her voice slightly softer.

He stood in silence for a while. The woman started fixing some dinner, while Ceryl changed the toddler's rags, and Rosie just tried to communicate with him pulling faces and making extravagant hand signs.

-I have to go outside.- he announced.

The woman raised an eyebrow:-Why?-

-Because I need to...ah... make water. Unless you want me to piss here in the bed.-

Rosie looked very amused again:-He said "piss".-

-We've had enough of that in the past days, thank you.-

-You peed in your sleep. A lot.- Ceryl informed him.

-Would you care to escort me then?-

His mother preceded him:-I'll take you outside.-

She help him out of the bed.

His left leg was immobilized with a stick, but the right was stiff and gave him pangs of pain when he took the first step.

They finally managed to get outside and reach the privy.

They were on a hill that slung softly until a small beach. Behind the house, he could see the tidy rows of a vine. It was a calm spring evening, pleasantly chilly. He could hear the sound of the waves. For some reason, that made him feel a twinge of melancholy.

He started to make water. It was the best feeling since he had woken up, and since he didn't remember anything else, the best feeling he knew. That surely put things in perspective, he thought.

The woman was still watching him, though she looked less worried now that they were outside.

-I see what you're at now.- he said.

-What, pray?-

-You managed to sneak outside with me, just to take a look under my breeches. You could have just asked.- he explained.

He had expected an outrage, or at least a disapproving look, but she simply shrugged:-I changed you sheets and clothes for a fortnight. Forgive me if I didn't wait for your leave.-

-A fortnight?- he was shocked -Has anyone come searching for me?-

She shook her head:- The tide brought corpses for days, and the remains of a ship. It was a ferocious storm. I don't think there were other survivors.- she eyed him sceptically -Are you sure you don't remember anything?-

-I swear on my honour, no. It is... a ghastly thought.- he admitted.

When he was finished, he took a good look at his bandaged leg. A fine work, he thought.

-Where did you learn to fix limbs?-

-My father was a maester.- she explained.

He frowned:-I thought maesters weren't allowed to sire children.-

-That's probably one of the reasons why he got himself kicked out of the Order.-

The brief time out of the bed had made him tired, and he leaned against the cottage's wall.

-You look terrible.- she said -You need to recover, you can't stay here forever.-

-You wound me, woman. Just when I thought we were becoming friends. You tell me about your family, you admire my cock... and then this.-

-I'm not interested in your cock, but if you take it out anywhere near my kids, I'll make sure you piss like a woman for the rest of your life.-

That was no jape: he could tell that she was deadly serious.

-Don't worry Mother Bear. I'm not that kind of man.- he reassured her -I'd rather find a nice whore. Speaking of which, you wouldn't be so kind as to escort me to the nearest brothel, would you? I feel I should refresh my memory on the subject.-

-You should go to the Arbor. I'm afraid we're not that well-equipped on this island.-

He shook his head:- Such a miserable place this is. No wonder you have such a bad temper. What is your name, by the way?-

-Mara- she answered.

-Nice to meet you.-

-Yes, I bet.- she answered wearily.


	3. Chapter 3

-I know what. We should find you a name!- Rosie proposed brightly one evening.

Mara was helping him keeping his wounds clean. She brought water from the Foul Springs that stank like rotten eggs but, she claimed, helped wounds heal quickly.

It seemed the method worked. His leg was still broken, but the cuts and the bruises on the rest of his body were healing. He still felt very weak and often he would wake up shivering with fever, but he managed to stay awake for almost a whole day now.

Despite her mother's half-hearted attempts, the "no talking" rule didn't last very long.

Not that Rosie ever had the slightest intention of respecting it: even the first days, she would simply wait for her mother and Ceryl to go working in the vine to start asking him all kinds of questions.

He couldn't answer most of them. The memories didn't seem to come back.

But he found he remembered stories and legends, and those that he didn't remember he could fill with inventions of his own, and the girl spent hours listening to him.

She would say he was funny.

_Why, I am a malformed, scarred imp, aren't I hilarious?_

He had marvelled at how quick that thought had come to his mind, and wondered why.

Rosie was still chuckling at the tale of a big and fearsome warrior who had slung on horse shit and lost a duel to a young and small squire.

Was it so bad that he was making her laugh? Why was his instinct to feel ashamed?

Rosie and Ceryl took turns to help Mara in the vine, so that one of them was always with their little sister, but Rosie was a much more likeable company and she seemed to enjoy the days spent with him too.

Also Leya seemed to like him uncritically, even if he wasn't sure she really understood the stories he would tell. She laughed when her sister laughed, but she seemed to like his face and would often climb on his makeshift bed to play with him with a stuffed toy resembling a pig.

-That's probably because you look like a stuffed animal yourself.- Ceryl said, with an attempt of sarcasm.

That boy was a pain. He was sulky and broody like his mother. He was the one that resembled her the most, not only in the nasty temper, but also in the looks. They were both tall and skinny, with long, gaunt faces and black eyes, so dark he couldn't distinguish the pupil. They reminded him of crows.

The girls looked little like Mara: they had a wide, good-natured face, and blue-green eyes, the very same colour of the sea. He could only suppose that they looked like their father.

He soon found out that the family seemed to have an unspoken agreement never to mention him.

An agreement that Rosie had broken on the first day he had woken up. He remembered Mara's reaction: small wonder the kids had learned not to talk about him. Judging from Leya's age, it was a recent loss.

It was like living with a huge, sleeping dragon in the house that everybody pretended to ignore, because if they acknowledged its presence, he could wake up and start breathing fire.

He cocked his head to a side:-And what name do you think befits me?-

Rosie rolled her eyes and smiled:- I like Boo.-

Leya beamed, expressing her love for the name.

-That's not a man's name. Boo is a name for dogs.- objected Ceryl.

-It's a fine name!- Rosie replied, defensively –You do like it, don't you?-

He chuckled noncommittally:- I'm not sure…-

-We're not calling him Boo, Rosie. But if you could choose yourself a name, that would be nice.- Mara chimed in –I'm tired of addressing you as "you" or "hey".-

-It can't be just any name, I want a good one. A man's destiny is in his name.- he said.

-How about Jon? A lot of people are called Jon.- Ceryl proposed.

He shrugged:-Hmm… I don't feel like a Jon.-

-Pate?-

-Definitely not.-

-Lem?-

-Desmond?-

It became a sort of game, where they tried to come up with the most extravagant names.

-Maybe I'm a Ch'vyalthan.- he suggested.

-Heikkilukkarakki!- screamed Rosie.

-You made that up.- protested Ceryl –Willifer. This exists!-

Leyla seemed lost:-….Boo?- she asked hopefully.

-I surrender. I don't know which one's my name. I'm no one.- he sighed.

-Nemo.- said Mara, unexpectedly –It means "no one" in High Valyrian.[1]-

-How does a peasant from Foul Island know High Valyrian?- he enquired.

She shrugged:- I know many things.-

-Nemo.- he repeated. No one. It felt strangely appropriate – I like it.-

As days went he started to get out of bed.

He didn't go very far, just up to the door and into the yard, but it was enough to make him realize how stiff and sore his muscles were. His legs were wobbly when he tried to walk.

Worst of all, he felt dizzy, like the earth was spinning below his feet, whenever he got up.

And yet he felt he had to.

-Damn!- he exclaimed when he risked falling for the hundredth time, holding back whatever ruder curse came to his mind, propping himself up against a wall -I hate this. I hate myself.-

Rosie was sitting cross-legged by the hearth. He had told her he didn't want any help.

-Why?- she asked.

-Because I'm weak.-

-So what?-

-Weakness is shameful- he replied, without thinking.

She shrugged. She was very much alike her mother when she shrugged.

-Why? It's not your fault your ship broke and you hit all those rocks.-

-No, but now t's shameful to ask for help like a child...-

-If you can't do something and you make someone help you, it just means you're smart- she insisted.

He couldn't think of a good reply.

Ceryl wasn't so understanding though. He didn't mock him, not really, but didn't do anything to make things easier for him.

He just stayed and stared at him.

-You limp pretty badly, eh?- he would comment.

-What a wonderful spirit of observation you have.- he answered, painfully conscious of being red-faced in the effort of standing up.

-What if you never walk properly again?-

-Then I will limp my merry way around.-

He watched him critically: -Your legs are short too. You'll be very slow.-

-I'll make sure I won't enter any race.-

Despite his quick replies, he wasn't so self-assured.

The boy seemed to voice his own fears, and that made him all the more angry.

Mara spent little time inside the house: she would leave at dawn, heading for the vine, and spend all of her day there. It wasn't a very big vine, but if was a huge work for a person alone.

She also worked on a patch of garden where she had planted herbs and vegetables. Sometimes the kids would go fishing and there would be sea breams, octopus or mussels for dinner.

Occasionally she and the kids went to the market to buy flour, milk, meat or bacon.

Since he started to get up, he ate the meals at their table.

The woman's cooking was simply dreadful. Whatever she cooked was dull, savourless, and often burnt. The problem in his opinion was that she would try to do too many things at a time (roast the fish, and clean the stove, and set a quarrel between Ceryl and Rosie, and prevent Leyla from touching the fire).

It seemed rude to complain though.

Despite being a sullen harpy, she had tended to him, fed him and dressed him.

His own clothes were too torn and ruined to be of use, no more than rags: they were too ravaged to give him any clues about his identity.

At first she had given a tunic that belonged to Ceryl, but it was too long on the arms and tight on the chest, so in the end she had taken a man's tunic, a pair of breeches and a doublet, and cut them on the sleeves and on the legs. They were worn but of decent quality.

The family was not utterly poor, he judged, but surely they couldn't normally spare food and clothes for strangers.

Despite this concrete generosity, she hardly talked to him and never smiled.

-You're a good healer.- he told her once.

-Thank you.-

-You should do it for a job. You wouldn't need to break your back in that vine.-

-She used to do it.- Ceryl chimed in before she could answer –The vine was my father's.-

-Be silent, Ceryl- she said, sounding not angry, but very tired.

-Then, why…?-

-This is none of your concern.- she snapped.

Another forbidden subject, apparently.

He didn't dislike Mara, but he found himself uneasy in her presence.

She seemed to carry around a burden of grief, and infect anyone around her.

After a couple of weeks, he was feeling much better.

He still had his leg tied to a stick, but he could waddle around with a stick easily enough. He would not feel so dizzy, except when he stood up in a hurry. His right leg, even if not injured, was stunted and crooked, and he wondered if he had ever walked normally at all.

Rosie and Ceryl sometimes led him to Foul Spring, on the west side of the island, where the water was warm and stank like rotten eggs. A hell of a walk, and the smell there was disgusting, but they liked to play in the lukewarm lake.

He went to the harbour once, for the market. Mara didn't sell her vine at the market, but usually sold bigger quantities to the local inn, or to merchants that brought it to the mainland.

The island, he discovered, was no more than twenty square miles wide, almost entirely covered with vines: the only way to sail there was the small gulf were the port was. Everywhere else, it was surrounded by sharp rocks and the waves crushed against the shores endlessly. It was nothing short of a miracle that he had survived to the beach.

The island was covered with hills, but there was a mountain in the middle.

The mules and donkeys were probably scarce, and the islanders had built a system of pulleys connected to a bis rope to lift chests to the mountain top.

The village was nothing more than a handful of houses built around the port.

-Mara! Got yourself another kid, have you?- greeted her a huge man, with a big grey beard, at a butcher's stand.

She just nodded at him curtly.

Some children greeted Ceryl and Rosie, but kept at distance.

Many people were staring at him, he noted. That was probably because of his size.

A group of children gathered and followed him for a while, talking in low voices, until one of them, looking bold, detached himself to talk to him.

-Are you going to juggle for us?- said the child, not older than ten.

-No.- he answered, perplexed by the question.

-Oh.- he left, looking disappointed. The group of children dissolved briefly.

-A mummer's troupe came to the island, some years ago.- Mara explained -They also had a couple of dwarfs with them.-

Ceryl looked at the leaving kids with something sad and longing in his eyes.

Rosie instead was busy at a nearby stall, petting some goats with Leya.

If the children's attention was soon caught elsewhere, he could still feel many gazes over him.

Had it been like this all his life? Should he have been used to the curious, rude or downright contemptuous looks?

The time spent in the cottage near the sea, with the almost sole company of children, hadn't prepared him for this.

Everybody seemed to be familiar with each other, and even if Mara didn't talk much, it was clear that she was known in the village.

Some people greeted her briefly, a woman selling goat milk, some fishermen, a man selling pies at a stall.

-I've seen your vine.- an old man told her, selling her the flour -Not looking good is it? Is the plague spreading?-

Her face was dark:- I'm taking care of it.-

The old man shook his head:- You're fighting a lost battle. There's no cure for that, everyone knows.-

-We'll see.-

-Ah, you're making your own ruin.- insisted the man -You better cut the infected plants and save what it's left. And you should find yourself a strong husband someone that's used to the fields here, while you're still decent enough and you still have a vine. - he eyed him with unconcealed contempt -Soon you'll be old and saggy and nobody will want you.-

She grunted something indefinite and left.

_How charming_. Small wonder Mara avoided the lot.

He went talking to some fishermen, asking if they knew something about the ship that had sunk some weeks before, but with no luck. Apparently no one knew what the ship was doing there, and there weren't any reports of people looking for survivors.

It looked like he had appeared out of thin air.

Even if he could walk decently enough, he still preferred to stay at the cottage.

The children didn't seem to care much about his height or his face; everything about him was completely strange for them, so they would have probably been just as curious if he had been a tall, strong man.

Leya seemed to give his presence for granted.

She would often talk to him, making long speeches of which he understood little, or run to him to be picked up and spun, which she loved. Sometimes she would throw long, angry tantrums, but most of the time she was a good child. She often kissed him on his cheeks or on the middle of his face, where his nose should have been.

He often wondered if he had kids of his own. Probably not, he thought. He was not used to hold his tongue in their presence, as Mara did, and usually found their behaviour quite incomprehensible.

He could tell he wasn't used at dealing with children.

_And which woman could ever want a dwarf for a husband?_

Even Mara judged him harmless enough to make him stay at her house.

She hadn't done any further mentions of him leaving the house, and he was grateful for it, though she hardly did it out of good heart, he thought.

He had the impression that she was using his presence to keep unwanted suitors away.

She might not have been much of a looker, but she owned a vine, which, albeit small, was also big enough for the island's standards.

Obviously she wanted no husband. She seemed to hate the whole world, except her children.

And him, he had to admit. Oh, she didn't like him, he was sure about it, and was not even very gentle towards him, but she seemed to bear his presence near the kids, which was probably as far as she could go as in human affection.

Sometime she even respond to his japes with something like a scruffy irony, which he found surprisingly amusing.

One evening, they were in the cottage, while she was putting a chicken on the stove.

The children were playing a lively game that involved throwing at each other a ball made with rags.

Ceryl launched it towards Rosie, that ran to take it: she didn't watch where she was going and she kicked his stick, making him fall on the ground.

He didn't know how he managed to do it. It was just an instinct, but as he was falling, he put his hands on the ground, and gracefully lifted his body, walking the length of the room on his hands. He made sure to land on his good leg first.

-Ne-mo!- shouted Leya –Again!-

-Where did you learn that?- asked Rosie with enthusiasm -Can you teach me?-

-I have no idea!-

Even Mara smiled, surprised. She was quite pretty when she smiled, he noticed.

-You are a mummer, then!- Ceryl exclaimed.

-A mummer?- he feigned indignation -I'm probably some high lord, maybe even a king.-

-I don't think you are a lord- said Mara.

-Why not? Do you perchance think that all the lords are tall and handsome? There must be some ugly offspring like myself even among them.-

-Your back.-

He cocked his head to a side: -What of it?-

-It's full of whipping scars. I don't think many lords usually get whipped.-

He winked at her:- Ah, but some think it's fun.-

A loud knocking interrupted them.

Mara looked worried and gestured them to be silent.

-Who's there?-

-It's Ben.- said a muffled voice from behind the door.

When the door opened, he saw a man, whose face was twisted with anguish.

He recalled seeing him at the market. The pie seller, he remembered.

-It's my son- he blurted out –Please… you must help him… he's burning with fever…-

-I can't help you. Go home.- she answered, in a flat, colourless voice.

-I pray… you could, I know you could…- the man looked like he could break in tears –I would pay you…-

-I don't want your money.-

-Then, what do you want?-

- You know what I want.- she spat out -But it's too late now, isn't it?-

Now Ben seemed angry:- You would let the whole world die, just for revenge?-

-Yes. I hope you all die, everyone on this bloody island.-

There was something wild and scary in her face. It was the face of someone who fed on hate, and drank on sorrow, and was ready to drag anyone along in her fall.

But the man didn't see that. He gave her a slap.

Rosie and Ceryl sucked in their breath, and Leya started to cry.

He hurried to him, but moved too brusquely and fell on the floor.

But then it all happened very quickly: Ben caught Mara's arm, to hurt her or perhaps to drag her outside, she wriggled away and suddenly she had a knife in her hand and was pressing it against Ben's throat.

-Get out- she hissed –get out of my house and never come back again.-

-I'm sorry…- he whimpered –I didn't mean… I'm desperate…-

She pressed the knife harder, and drew a thin bloody line on his neck.

Ben moved back, turned and ran away.

She slammed the door shut.

The façade crumbled as soon as the door closed, and he could see that she was shaking.

Her face was completely white, except the red mark on her cheek, where Ben had slapped her.

-Don't worry, Mother.- Ceryl said, in a small but firm voice –He's gone. Come here, sit.-

She followed him to a chair. Despite the situation, Ceryl looked strangely self-possessed as he patted his mother's back and told her simple soothing words.

She clung on to him as if somebody could take him away from one moment to the next.

-I..I love you.- she said, inconsequentially.

-I know- the boy replied -I love you too.-

Rosie went to comfort Leya and for a moment everyone was silent. He felt like an intruder, and didn't know if he should do something.

-I'll cook the chicken.- he said eventually. The four people looked at him as if they had just woken up from a dream.

Mara nodded, looking almost grateful.

He cooked the chicken on the stove, using all the spices, the onions and the herbs he could find.

It was delicious, they all agreed.

Later that night, when the children were already asleep, he saw Mara going outside and followed her.

He didn't sleep much, since he had recovered. Maybe he had never been much of a sleeper.

She was sitting in the yard, under the peach tree, looking sad and a bit confused. She was slightly startled when she heard him approaching, but didn't complain. Coming from her, it was almost an invitation to stay.

He sat next to her.

-You're a good cook- she said.

He shrugged and smile: - I like eating.-

She nodded:-That's a good start.-

-I don't think that man is coming back. You scared him out of his wits.- he said after a while.

-They used to come more often. They've almost stopped now.- she answered.

_And I wonder why,_ he wanted to say, but decided to hold his tongue, and just waited.

-Four years ago, when I was pregnant with Leya, the Ironmen raided these shores.- she said at last. Her voice was flat and emotionless, but she started to tear some grass from the ground -First the Reach, then the Arbor, and finally they arrived here.

We knew they were coming, sooner or later. Our island is small, and we have no armies. Even Lord Redwyne's fleet never got here.  
Some people said we should hide in the mountain, where there are all the galleries, a labyrinth for those who don't know them. Let them take what's in the houses and burn the fields. They'll never find us here. But Evan, my husband, didn't agree. We should fight, he said. We can't just let them take what we worked all our lives for. He loved this vine, it was his father's before his, and his grandfather's before. And he was...- her voice trembled, just slightly -People listened to him. He had a gift. He knew everyone, and most people loved him. There were discussions, but in the end he many people decided to join him. They organized... well, not an army, but a resistance. They bought weapons from the merchants, and they had plans. I know now that they were just peasants with hayforks, but at the time...- She shook her head.

-When the Ironmen came, we saw the from afar. All the women, the crones and the children hid in the mountains. I wanted to stay with Evan, but I was with child and he said...- she sighed -Well, in the end I didn't. I stood inside the mountain, and waited with all the others. After some hours, many men, more than a half of them, ran inside the tunnels, scared out of their minds. The Ironmen were wild, they said, they fought like beasts and knew no mercy. They didn't want to die. But the others, that were still fighting, had no chance without them. I told them so. I told them they were abandoning their friends and their brothers and their fathers, but they said they were dead anyway. I screamed at them, and I kicked, and I tried to go outside, but they didn't let me. They said I would give them all away. They just stood there in silence, and waited for the storm to pass. And when the next morning we went to the village, everybody was dead, on the shore or in the water, and we couldn't even tell who were the bodies.-

Her voice was filled with venom:- And I hate them. I hate every single one of them. I hate the Ironmen. I hate Ben, because he was one of those who abandoned Evan, and I hate all those that didn't fight, and I hate everyone that survived, because they're not him. And sometimes I hate Evan for not coming back with them, and myself for not going out after him.-

He listened to her in silence.

-That's too much hate to live with.- he said quietly at last.

He wanted to comfort her, offer what little solace he could. But could she want it?

He felt a shadow of a memory, the ghost of a feeling: the rejection, the disgust, a face jerking away from the touch of his hand. _And what did you expect, dwarf?_

And yet he saw himself taking her hand and give it a little squeeze. She glanced up in surprise, but as he was already bracing for a bitter reproach, she placed her other hand over his, holding it there. Her hands were nicely shaped, with long slender fingers, but the palm was callused and full of bruises.

-Sometimes I wish I could just hit my head too and forget everything.- she said.

-Aren't I lucky?- he sneered -But be careful before you try to take a dive into the sea, you might risk to lose your nose as well.- he said, pinching it.

-I won't take any dive.- she assured -And anyway I swim far too well.-

* * *

[1] Ok, it's Latin, but whatever


	4. Chapter 4

Mara took him to the vine one day.  
The wound on his leg was still sore and hot, but the rest of his body had healed quite well. When his leg will heal too, he would have no reason to stay there anymore. And what could he go, then? What will he do? He tried not to think about it.  
She took a leaf and showed it to him:- This is it.- she said -the disease. Wine's plague. There's no known cure for it.-  
The leaf was covered with white-yellow spots, similar to must, but far more foul-smelling.  
It wasn't just the leaves: the grapes will sprout and quickly rot on the tree, and the remaining will have a sour flavour, making the wine disgusting.  
-All the plants have it.- she said -I should eradicate the whole thing.-  
-Isn't there another way?- he asked.  
-I haven't found it yet. It took me four years to make it as it is now, after the Ironmen burned it. And if I don't have a crop in five months I'll have to sell it. I can't stand losing it. I can't.- she kicked a rock on the ground, in anger -He would want me to lose it.-  
He examined the leaf more closely: -Are there any other vines with the same problem?-  
-Oh, it comes up every now and then, but the expert farmers usually can recognize the symptoms early, and they cut the breach. I found out too late.-  
-It looks like some sort of fungus. –  
-I thought the same. I tried treating it with vinegar, lemongrass and marigold, but it was no good.-  
_No, the vine leaf is too unlike a man's skin_, he thought.  
-If the neighbours knew how widespread the plague is, they would burn it themselves. If it infects the other vines…- she shuddered.  
_As if there wasn't enough love between her and the rest of the island.  
_-What if there's no way?-  
Her mouth tightened:- There is always a way.- she said, stubbornly.

Since he had been a guest for so long, he started helping the family how he could.  
He was still too weak to work in the field, and with his broken leg it was difficult to climb up the hills, but he could help where his little strength wasn't a problem.  
He cooked for them: he could tell he wasn't really used to it, but he remembered flavours, and how they should taste together. Dinner became a much more pleasant affair since he took over the cooking.  
He also started helping Mara dealing with the merchants. He was better at bargaining than she was: he could bluff and raise the price and outwit them.  
She wasn't enthusiast of his interference: she had begrudgingly accepted his help only after some insistence from his part.  
-I don't need help.- she insisted.  
-I know you don't.- he said for the hundredth time –but I don't want to be a burden. And I need something to do, otherwise I will go mad. And this way you can keep searching a way to cure the plague.-  
She avoided his gaze: -I can manage. I don't need anyone, like… another husband or…-  
_I've met mules less stubborn than this wench_, he thought, exasperated. _At least, I think I did.  
_-I don't want to be your husband and I don't think you need one.- he said, taking her under the chin and raising it up –But you might want a friend.-  
If she had been reluctant, Ceryl was growing more and more restive.  
He seemed to have a hard time adjusting to idea of having him around.  
-When will your leg heal?- he asked sometimes –Why can't you find your own house?-  
It grated on him all the more because they were the same questions he kept asking himself.  
He knew that it couldn't be a permanent arrangement, and yet he couldn't think of anywhere else to go.  
The gods be praised for Rosie.  
She, at least, was on his side. She followed him around all day, asking for stories or for tumbling tips. She had almost learned how to cartwheel.  
Rosie, unlike Ceryl, was instinctively wary of the other islanders, but not of him.  
_I probably look more like a child in her eyes_, he thought.  
He wondered if his short stature had ever been something that brought people closer to him, instead of the opposite. From the looks he got when he got to the village, he supposed not.  
Leya squealed of delight whenever he scooped her up, and had started to refuse to go to sleep unless he recited for her some silly rhyme he had invented for her.  
-You shouldn't do that.- Ceryl protested once, when Mara wasn't there –She'll start thinking you're her father or something.-  
-So what?- Rosie shrugged –It's not like she can remember Father, anyway. She never even met him. I don't remember him very well either.- she admitted.  
-I remember.- Ceryl said quietly.  
_Poor Ceryl,_ he thought, despite his annoyance. He understood that it had to be harder for him than for his sisters. Rosie was only two when their father died, and Leya wasn't even born. He was seven instead, so he probably could remember him well enough. _Like Mara.  
_Mother and son looked closer because they were the only ones sharing the grief, he thought.  
For the girls, the idea of a father was something that existed only in tales. For Ceryl, it had been real.  
-Yes – Rosie conceded, unaware of her brother's distress –but that was different, wasn't it?-  
-Everything was different. People too.-  
-How?- he asked, interested.  
Ceryl seemed uncertain if he could talk or not, but in the end he answered:- We used to go to the village, almost every day. When we went to the market, a lot of people talked to us. Like Dorrel the butcher sometimes does, just more people. Father took me to the inn sometimes, where everyone goes, and he'd let me taste the ale. And I used to play with Lom and Corr, and with the their brothers, and sometimes we would jump into the sea from the cliff near the port.- He took a breath – But then Mother didn't let me go with them anymore, and now everyone has forgotten about us.-  
-I'm sure they haven't.- he assured him.  
Ceryl looked up at him, with the wisdom that seemed to came from years of illusions and disappointment:- They will.-

Despite Mara's constant attempts, nothing would cure wine's plague.  
All of the vine's leaves were covered in those ugly yellowish spots, and some, those that were infected first, were withering on the branch and falling on the ground, twisted and gnarled like pieces of parchment in the fire.  
-The rows on the east are almost all gone- she told him, showing him a ruined leaf –those on the west are holding on better, but it's just a question of time.- The other leaf was still green, but the spots were wide and many.  
Ceryl and Rosie were already in their beds, and Leya had fallen asleep hours before on his hay bed in the kitchen.  
They was no sound, except the sound of the waves.  
There were dark shadows under her eyes and her face looked gaunter than ever. He knew that she didn't sleep much.  
He could hear her tossing and turning all night on the other side of the wall, in the room that she shared with the children. She hardly ate at all.  
-That's it. I give up. I will cut everything on the morrow. Best doing it before it spreads on the other side of the hill.- she said, in a matter-of-fact tone that clashed with the anguish in her eyes –I knew it would happen, sooner or later.-  
She looked defeated.  
-I'm sorry.- he said, squeezing her hand.  
-That's quite alright. We'll… we'll adjust to this. Maybe we will move to the Arbor, or to the mainland. There's nothing here for us anymore.-  
Perhaps that was for the better.  
And perhaps Ceryl had been right, after all. He could imagine the boy would be less than thrilled at the prospect.  
-Maybe… maybe you could sell just half the vine, and keep the rest. Then you could replant it and after a couple of years, you could buy it again.-  
-Aye – she said, in an unconvincingly optimistic voice –I should do that, yes… it might work.-  
But they both knew it was self-delusion: the island was small and the vines were passed from father to son. Whenever someone managed to buy some land, they wouldn't been so keen to sell it again. Even he had understood as much.  
-I better go to sleep.- she announced –Remember to clean your wound with the Foul water. I don't really feel like cutting your leg too, at least not yet.-  
-I will. Can I do something to help you? A cup of tea? – he grinned – A night of sweet passion to forget your sorrows?-  
She got up and yawned: -Sorely tempting as it is, I think I'll have to refuse this time.-  
-My tempting body is always at your disposal.-  
She raised an eyebrow: -I was talking about the tea.-  
He cocked his head:- Now, that was almost a joke. I'm proud of you, Mother Bear, you're improving.-  
-Aren't I? I'll be half a mummer by the time you're healed.-  
She stepped closer to him:-I never thought I would say that, but I'm happy that you're here. It's good to talk to you. It helps. Thank you.-  
-Don't mention it. I'm the very soul of helpfulness.-  
She hugged him.  
He blinked in surprise. He didn't expect it. He never really thought about it, but he had the impression that hugs were something for children… and even in that case it all felt very unfamiliar.  
It felt good though, he thought, to be held. Slowly, he raised his arms and put them around her.  
He could feel the scent of her hair- something sweet and clean- and the warmth of her neck next to his face.  
He also felt the pressure of her breasts against him.  
It was a new feeling, and yet it felt unexpectedly natural, like something he could remember from a dream.  
She pulled back, only slightly, and they brows touched.  
Her eyes were closed; he lifted his hand and put it on her cheek, stroking it and pulling her face closer.  
_What am I doing?_ he thought.  
It was a matter of a split second, no more than a heartbeat… and then she stepped back abruptly, flushed, looking embarrassed.  
He felt suddenly cold, and very empty.  
-I must go. To bed, I mean. To sleep.- she moved back, and knocked down the bowl with the foul water, making it spill on the floor and on the vine leaves that she had showed him earlier. -I'm sorry!-  
-That's alright.- he said, sounding more dispirited than he intended.  
She scooped up Leya, who continued to sleep soundly: -Good night.- She didn't even look him in the eye, and then disappeared in the other room.  
He sat on his hay bed, alone, then picked up the looking glass.  
His own reflection stared back at him: his mismatched eyes, his pushed-in features, the scar, the raw scab where his nose should have been.  
_If I opened my eyes and saw this, I would jerk away too_, he thought bitterly.

Thanks to those that left a comment!

Please let me know what you think! *pretty please*


	5. Chapter 5

The following morning he got up to a rhythmical sound that he failed to recognize at first.  
It was barely dawn. He limped outside, and realized that it was the sound of Mara cutting the vines with an axe. A creepy sound, he thought.  
She must have gone out very early, without waking anyone, or breaking her fast.  
He went back inside, and picked up the bowl that had fallen the night before. The memory was bittersweet.  
The air still smelled like rotten eggs.  
He picked up a couple of leaves from the ground too. One of them was completely withered, and crumpled in his hand.  
When he touched the other leaf, though, he felt something dusty under his thumb.  
He looked at it more closely. The green of the leaf was half covered by the yellowish spots… but they looked pale and dry. He brushed one of the spots with his fingers and, to his great surprise, he saw that the white texture of the spot was falling off like sand.  
Incredulous, he touched the other spots to… and they crumbled, like an old scab falling off a wound.  
How was that possible? Mara had done nothing to the leaves… nothing… except knocking a bowl of Foul water over them.  
The Foul water! That had to be the solution! He was thrilled. He had to tell her!  
A low, hushed sound from the outside shook him from his thoughts. She was still cutting the vine.  
He ran outside, limping heavily.  
-Stop! – he shouted – Stop cutting!-  
She couldn't hear him. He waved at her, helplessly, but she didn't notice him.  
-Mara! Stop!-  
He started climbing the hill, as fast as his leg allowed him.  
Ceryl emerged from the door, looking drowsy:- Wut…?-  
-Why are you shouting?- Rosie followed, yawning.  
Leya came outside too:- Nemo…?-  
-Run up to your Mother. Tell her to stop cutting!- he urged them.  
They just stared at him, confused.  
-Come on! -  
Rosie was the first to react:- I'll race you up!- she told her brother, and started running.  
-Hey wait, that's not fair!-  
They were a strange scene, he thought, all running and screaming up the hill.  
Ceryl was the first to reach Mara (he recovered his sister's head start very quickly), then Rosie, and they talked very loudly with excited, high-pitched voices.  
Mara looked puzzled:-What…? Can you talk just one at a time?-  
Leya kept running around him, probably not figuring out much of what was happening, but enjoying the thrill of the moment.  
He finally reached her. He was flushed and breathless.  
-Look!- he urged, pushing the healed leaf in her hand –The spots. They're healing.- He stopped for breath. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, and his chest and armpits were covered in sweat._ Gods be good, I'm having a stroke_. He let himself fall on the ground.  
- It's the water- he managed to say –the Foul water.-  
Her eyes lit up, but she kept a straight face, as the information was sinking in:- But… how…?  
-The sulphur.- He had never thought about the Foul water much before, but he realised now it had to be that -That's what makes the water smell like rotten eggs. The sulphur burns the plague away.-  
She kneeled beside him. She wasn't quite smiling, she didn't dare to. But he could see the hope in her eyes.  
-And do you think it will work?-  
-Not on the east lines, no. They're too ruined. -  
-That was lucky I started cutting from here. Everywhere else though…-  
-I don't see why not.-  
She thought about it:- We're going to need a lot of water. We'll have to find a way to carry it here. I don't know if I should dig a ditch, it may pollute the ground… and without a mule…-  
-We'll figure out something. There's always a way, isn't it?-  
She gave a crooked smile:- Just so.-  
Rosie shook him from his thoughts:-Can we go home now? I'm hungry!-

So they went home, and broke their fast with hard-boiled eggs, crispy fried sardines and flatbread.  
They talked about how to get the Foul water to the vine, made plans for the future works.  
She looked uncertainly happy, as if she didn't dare to get her hopes up.  
Ceryl spent half the time playing hide and seek with his sister and the other half trying to convince his mother that he was a big boy and he could probably lift a cask of water by himself.  
They started watering the plants right after the meal: the task proved more difficult than they thought.  
The path from the vine to the Foul Spring was rocky and rutty, and the weight of the water in the pails made it more uncomfortable. He couldn't carry them with his leg, so he stood in the vine, waiting for Mara, Ceryl and Rosie to bring what water they could carry and then sprayed it on the plants.  
It took him no more than a few minutes to do that, while the journey to the Spring and back took more than half an hour.  
By evening, Mara and the children were exhausted, and they hadn't even completed two lines of the vine.  
-This is taking too long. The plague will take all of it before we finish to water half the vine.-  
She sighed:- I know. But what else can I do?-  
-You could buy a mule, or hire one.-  
-No, it couldn't manage the path to the Spring. It's too uneven. The people here always used pulleys to carry weights to the mountain and back.-  
-Let's build one then.-  
She shook her head:- I don't know how to do that… I suspect it would take too long.-  
-You might buy it at the village. There must be someone that knows how to build them.-  
She frowned:- Well, let's see if it works, first.-

The next day, the spots looked just as the day before.  
-It doesn't mean it's not working. These things take time.- he told her .  
-I know.- she said. But she was tormenting her hands nervously. –Let's just keep watering them.-  
Two days later, all the leaves were no different from the day before.  
-Perhaps that leaf was just withered. It's like they said, there's no cure.-  
He tightened his lips. _I was so sure…  
_-You don't know yet.-  
She averted her eyes:- It was too good to be true. I'll have to just destroy everything and be done with it.-  
-Just wait some more- he urged her.  
On the third day, he limped to the vine with her, leaning on the stick.  
She already had a gloomy expression on her face, as if she was bracing for disappointment.  
At a first glance, all the plants looked exactly the same, their green leaves half covered by those ugly yellowish spots.  
She sighed.  
-I guess this is the end.-  
She ran a hand on the leaves, a sort of caress, he thought.  
A thin, fair dust fell on the ground. It looked like dandruff.  
-Look!- he exclaimed.  
She took a leaf in her hands, and brushed it on the spots: they wore off, just as he had observed on the other leaf.  
-It works…- she whispered.  
For a moment, he thought she was going to cry.  
Instead, when she turned her face around, he saw she was smiling brightly.  
-It works!- she exclaimed again.  
-Yes, it…- he couldn't finish the sentence, because she was laughing breathlessly.  
-We did it! You know what this means? We will save the vine!-  
She was so happy.  
Joy transformed her whole face, making her look younger and truly beautiful.  
-We must find a way to bring the water here. I must do it before the first grapes sprout. I must ask for someone to build a pulley… or maybe… oh, I don't know! But it works!-  
She laughed again, whirled him around, then grabbed him by the shoulders and planted a big kiss on his lips.  
And before he could do or say anything, she was running to the house.

_As usual, comments welcome! :) Thank you!_


	6. Chapter 6

By evening, all the plants treated with the Foul water were considerably improving.  
He was confused about the kiss. What did it mean?  
_Nothing, you fool. She was just happy about her vine and you happened to be there.  
_Still, at night sometimes he found himself easing a hand between his legs, imagining her to kiss him more, then peel herself out of her clothes and climb atop him.  
And at daytime he spied her movements and her face, looking for a sign to understand her behaviour.  
He wish he remembered something about his past relationships with women.  
_Did I have any at all?_  
A knocking on the door interrupted his thoughts.  
Mara opened the door and found a group of people that he remembered from the market, including the old man that sold the flour and the big bearded butcher.  
-Mara- he greeted her.  
-Dorrel.- she answered, with a wary expression.  
Rosie and Ceryl just looked at them in silence, while Leya rushed to him, asking to be picked up.  
-We saw your vine today.-  
-Only today? It's been there for quite a while.-  
The old man looked at Dorrel as if to remind him that he'd predicted that moment.  
Dorrel ignored him:-It looks much better than before. It looks like you managed to heal the plague.- he continued.  
-Told you I would.-  
-How?-  
She crossed her arms on her chest:- That's my business.-  
Dorrel sighed:- Come on girl. You know how many people lost a life's work because of it. You could prevent it from happening again.-  
She shrugged:- Maybe I don't care.-  
-Do you want us to pay you for the remedy?-  
-No.-  
He was getting impatient:-You can't keep the secret forever. Somebody is bound to find out.-  
-They can try.-  
_This is folly_, he thought.  
He cleared his throat and put Leya on the floor:-Er, Mara? Can I talk to you for a moment?-  
She looked uncertain, the followed him in the bedroom.  
-Seven hells, what are you doing?- he asked.  
She looked annoyed:-Listen, I don't want to share the cure with them. They told me to stop searching for it countless times...-  
-They didn't tell you to stop searching, they just told you how not to risk all your living. And if by chance we hadn't spilled a bowl of water on the leaves, they would have been right.-  
She averted her gaze:- If you're on their side now...-  
-I'm not. I'm on your side. Always.- he took her hand -That man, Dorrel, he's right, though. They think it's some elaborate remedy that you're brewing yourself, but it would take them just a hour observing you to discover that it's much more simple. You can't hide it forever. Gods be good, you can't hide it even for half a day.-  
She kept looking on the floor, but said nothing.  
-You can still profit from this situation. The need the cure. You need help to bring the water to your plants. Just find a deal.-  
-I don't want no deal with...-  
-Mara, you can't live detached from the world forever. You need them, as much as they need you.-  
-I don't...-  
-Do it for your children, if not for yourself. Have you seen Ceryl's expression when he sees a group of kids playing together? He's lonely, he misses his friends. And Rosie and Leyla? They can't live like outcasts.-  
That made her furious.  
-Don't you dare tell me how I should raise my children! You know nothing...-  
-Oh, please, you know I wouldn't dare. I'm just asking you to put aside your grudge for a moment and think.-  
She took a deep breath, and looked at him with that unreadable expression that he remembered from his first days in that house.  
Then she walked outside the room to the visitors.  
-Fine.- she said -I will tell you how to heal the plague. In exchange you will build a system of irrigation with pulleys for my wine. And I will need assistance with irrigation until it's been built.-  
-That will do.- said Dorrel, nodding.  
-And a hundred stags – he added.  
Dorrel and the other people turned to him.  
-And you are...?-  
-Ah, my name is... Nemo. Mara's paymaster, treasurer and humble employee, at your service.-  
-Listen young man, nobody asked you to...-  
-And a hundred stags- she interrupted him -As my valiant collaborator reminded me.-  
Dorrel snorted: -I can give you thirty.-  
-Seventy.- he relaunched.  
-Fifty. This is my last offer.-  
He glanced at Mara and she almost imperceptibly nodded.  
-That will do.- he said.  
-That's a deal then.- Dorrel spat on his hand and held it out to Mara.  
She looked perplexed, then spat on her own hand and shook Dorrel's.  
-Deal.-  
Rosie wrinkled her nose:- Eww, gross.-.

They started building the pulley on the next day.  
In the meantime a dozen men brought the Foul water to the vine and in a couple of days they watered all the lines.  
Dorrel was shocked when he learned what was the miraculous cure: -And you made me pay fifty stags and all the work for that?-.  
He had shrugged:- Research is expensive, you know.-  
She had insisted on giving him at least half of the fifty stags he had raised.  
-Anyone could have found out!-  
-But they didn't.-  
Dorrel had grumbled for a while, but then had proceeded to apply the water on his own vine too.  
With Mara's sudden involvement in the island's life, he started learning more about its inhabitants.  
Although some of the islanders had other activities, like being a butcher or a miller, all of them relied mainly on their vines for their living.  
Dorrel, with his butcher stall and his big vine, was the closest thing to a leader that the island had.  
The old man with the mill was Tarq, and the old woman with the goats was called Alia. She must have seen at least ninety name days, and she was small and withered like a dried plum, not much taller than him.  
Many people came and went from the vine to the Springs, raising poles and stretching out ropes for the pulleys.  
They also started going to the village much more often.  
Mellowed by the events, Mara had even agreed to brew a herbal remedy for Ben's son, who got better quickly.  
Ceryl was often seen planning mischief with two boys about his age (Lom and Corr, he presumed), while Rosie and Leya spent most of their time with Alia's grandson, who had a deformed foot and tended at the goats.  
Mara quite liked Alia, he noticed. The old woman had lost a son during the Ironmen's attack, and maybe that was why she couldn't despise her as much as she despised the other islanders.  
Finally, she had taken the bandage and the stick off his leg, declaring that it looked healed.  
His leg looked very thin and pale compared to the other. It also looked straighter, while the other was crooked and made him waddle.  
_Perhaps I should break that too._  
No one had ever made any mention of him leaving, although the healing process was definitely complete.  
-I'm exhausted.- she told him one evening, after the children had gone to bed.  
They were sitting outside, under the peach tree.  
It had become his favourite moment of the day, because it was the only time when he could talk to her with some calm.  
-Having to talk to all these people is more tiring than harvesting the whole crop by myself, I swear.-  
-Should the whole farming thing not work, you have a satisfying future as silent sister ahead of you.-  
-And having to be bossed around all day by some septon? I don't relish the prospect.-  
-Aye, and I can just imagine your gentle way with the pilgrims and the penitents.- He imitated a plaintive voice -"Sister, the night is cold and stormy, and we've travelled so far to pray the Maiden. Pray, give us food and shelter"- he changed his voice again, mimicking her curt tone -"Go fuck yourself".-  
She laughed.  
-I'm not that grumpy.- she protested.  
He laughed: -Yes, you are! It took me a month before I could even see a smile.-  
-I've not always been like this. I use to smile all the time.-  
-All the time? Really?-  
-Once a boy told me he had fallen in love with me just because of my smile. Can you believe it?-  
He looked her in the eyes. They were dark and shiny.  
- Yes.- he said.  
It happened very slowly: he had the time to see her eyelids close, and to feel her hand on his side and her warm breath over his lips.  
Then their mouths met, and his tongue found hers: it was sweet and soft and he felt he was getting hard.  
He was embarrassed at first (_Does she feel it? Does she mind?_) and pulled slightly back, but then she pressed her body onto his and he realized that she liked the feeling. That aroused him even more. He eased her on the ground, among the leaves. His body seemed to know what to do, even without his mind guiding it.  
She unlaced his tunic, and then helped him take it off. He hadn't the time to feel self-conscious about his twisted shoulders or his scars, because she kissed him again and pulled him towards her. He slipped a hand under her gown, feeling the soft skin of her thighs and her buttocks, and...  
-What are you doing?- Ceryl's voice coloured with indignation and anger. He was standing on the doorstep, and looked shocked.  
Mara pushed him away and rushed to the boy.  
-Why were you kissing him? You are married!-  
-I know, Cery, listen to me…-  
-No! You can't do that! Don't you love Father anymore?-  
-Of course I do, but…- she put a hand on his arm, trying to calm him.  
Ceryl struggled out of her grip. His face was red with rage:-This is cheating on him! You're a cheater and I hate you!-  
The boy ran away into the fields.  
He stepped towards her:- He will come back soon. Just give him time to…-  
-No… he's… he's right, I suppose.- she said. Her face was white as chalk.  
-What? Of course he's not.-  
-That was ill done. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…- she sighed and ran a hand through her hair –I must go to him.-  
He took her hand and pulled her gently towards him. She was shaking.  
-Mara, please, wait a moment.-  
She wiggled out:-I'm sorry. That was a mistake. Forget about it. It won't happen again. Now I must find Ceryl.-  
-Can't you listen to me first?- He reached for her arm –Wait.-  
-No. Let go of me!-  
But he didn't want to let go. _If she could just listen to me…_  
She pushed him with all her might, and he fell on the ground.  
-Let me be! You've done enough damage already, haven't you? Just go away!- she shouted.  
He felt like he had been slapped, but she didn't seem to notice, as she hurried after her son.

_Reviews are very appreciated! *puppy eyes*_


	7. Chapter 7

He decided to walk to the village.  
Go away, she said. But where? He didn't have anywhere to go.  
_Anywhere is better than here. Anywhere far from that crazy woman and her spoiled brat._  
By the time he got there, his left leg was simply tired, but the other was cramped, its muscles stiff and sore.  
It was late, and all the houses were shut, with no candlelight seeping through the windows.  
He ended up in front of the inn, apparently the only place where someone was still awake.  
Inside, the common room was filled with people, drinking or playing cards. In a corner, a youth with a harp was singing.  
There were two long tables, and a fireplace at the end.  
He squeezed in a corner, and asked for a flagon of wine.  
-Nemo!- a man boomed, lowering a heavy hand on his shoulder. He recognized one of the workers that were building the pulley for irrigation. Jonos, he remembered. Some of the others were there too. –Good to see you! Did the old stick give you a night off?-  
-Aye – he answered, bitterly –But I almost had to fuck her to make her let me go.-  
Jonos and another man sniggered:- And then what happened? Did she take a good look at your face?-  
-No.- he said –She just caught a glimpse of my cock and got scared.-  
The whole table roared with laughter. There was something comforting about it.  
The wine came. They finished the flagon, then ordered another.  
He talked a lot with Jonos and the workers, and he often made everyone laugh.  
After a while, he didn't know whose wine he was drinking, it seemed to him that it just kept coming.  
His head was swimming. He had drank a lot, but it felt he was accustomed to it.  
-That cunt.- said a tipsy Janos at some point –I don't know how you can stand her. Thinks she's better than all of us here, doesn't she? I would have accepted to marry her to tend to her vine, but do you think she said yes?- he spit on the ground –Ah, I'm glad I dodged that arrow. She's not even pretty and those weird kids of hers…-  
_No,_ he wanted to scream_, you don't know anything about them. How dare you?_  
But then he thought of her face when she had pushed him away and said:- You're right. That bitch. You're much better off without her.-  
-Of course I am.-  
A woman sat next to him. She had brown, curly hair, and a lot of freckles on her nose.  
-Sally, this is Nemo. Nemo, meet Sally the pickpocket.- Jonos said.  
-I'm not a pickpocket! – she protested.  
But she wasn't very angry, because she sat and started drinking with them.  
-Where are you from, Nemo?- she asked, sipping from a wine cup.  
-I'm from a far, far away land, on the other side of the sea. I was a handsome, charming prince before an envious witch cast a spell on me and turned me into a ugly dwarf.-  
-Did she take your nose, too?-  
-No, I sold it to another sorcerer.-  
-Why?-  
-But why, to gain back my beauty. Didn't it work?-  
She chuckled:- You're funny, you know?-  
By the time they had finished the next flagon, he was dizzy and she was sitting on his lap, but he couldn't remember how she got there.  
-Come on, tell me where are you really from.- she said.  
-I don't know.- he confessed –I lost my memory.-  
-You didn't!-  
-Really, I did. I was found wounded on the beach after a shipwreck some two months ago, and I don't remember anything from before then.-  
She gaped at him:-Anything? You don't remember being a child?-  
He shrugged: -No.-  
-You don't remember your family?-  
-No.-  
-You don't remember fucking?-  
-No. But – he made a vague gesture with his hand -I think I have a general notion of how it should work.-  
She bend to whisper in his ear:-For a silver stag I could refresh your memory.-  
He blinked:-A stag?-  
She shrugged:-A girl has to make a living. Are you interested, forgetful boy?-  
-Aye, why not.-  
They got up, and she took him by the hand to lead him among the benches.  
He staggered and had to put out a hand on the walls to steady himself.  
By the time he went outside and felt the chilly air of the night, he had almost forgotten why he was there.  
She pushed him against the wall and started to fumble at his breeches.  
He cupped her cheek, looking for her lips, but she jerked away:- No kissing, forgetful boy.-  
Why not? Hadn't they kissed just moments before, under the peach tree? He wasn't sure.  
He opened her dress and buried his face between her small breasts.  
-It's so warm.- he said dreamily –So warm and sweet. Like… a cake. A warm cake.-  
She giggled:-You really are funny.-  
In the meantime she had found his cock, and in a couple of strokes had it hard. It felt good, but it was also very brusque. Why was she groping him like that?  
-D'you want to try something that you won't forget?- she asked.  
He thought about it: -I guess.-. He closed his eyes. He felt like the earth was spinning around him.  
She giggled again, then she lowered her head and pulled his cock out of his breeches.  
Then he opened his eyes, and found Mara looking at him, her face as hard as stone.  
-I...What...?- he exclaimed. Sally stopped whatever she was about to do.  
-I was just leaving. –Mara said, with a heavy wooden voice- Please, don't be bothered by me. I'd hate to interrupt in such a circumstance.-  
-I can…I was...-  
-Stop, please. There's no need. I was worried and I came searching for you, but I see that you're doing perfectly fine without me. I'm glad you found another way to tend to your needs. Don't bother to come back. Sally, always good to see you.-  
-Bye.- the latter replied.  
Mara turned and headed home.  
He clumsily laced up his breeches again: -Wait, let me just…-  
He tried to run after her, but he felt the wine he had drank suddenly boiling up and found himself retching against the inn's wall.  
Sally held his brow while he emptied his stomach –There, there.- she said –You had too much wine.-  
_Aye, or maybe not enough,_ he thought.  
After throwing up, he wasn't feeling dizzy anymore, and not very randy either.  
-I'm fine.- he assured –I think I'm done for tonight, thank you. Here's your stag.-.  
He put a hand in his pocket, searching for the coins.  
-But I didn't do anything.- Sally objected.  
He finally found a silver piece and gave it to her:-For your trouble.-  
-This is very generous of you. Next time it's on the house, forgetful boy-  
His head started to pound:-No worries, it's my pleasure.-  
She looked uneasy: -Oh, now I feel guilty. Here – she said, producing five silver pieces from somewhere in her dress–take them back.-  
It took him a moment to understand.  
You robbed me. You really are a pickpocket!-  
She shrugged:-A girl has to make a living. And I gave your money back to you, didn't I? You're a nice guy, I just can't steal from you. I have a conscience, you know.-  
He looked at the coins:- Wait a moment. I had eight stags in my pocket.- he remembered.  
She rolled her eyes, exasperated:- Fine. Fine!- she gave him two more silver pieces –Now, are you happy? I swear, everyone is getting more and more greedy these days.-

The next day he woke up in one of the inn's rooms.  
It took him a while to realize where he was. Then it all came back to him.  
He vaguely remembered asking for a room and collapsing there, still completely dressed.  
His head was pounding and he had a foul taste in his mouth.  
He waddled downstairs and found the innkeeper.  
-Can I have breakfast?- he asked.  
The man shook his head:- Breakfast was hours ago, sleeping beauty.- he sniggered.  
_Just my luck._  
He stepped outside and he winced at the sunlight. Too much light. It seemed to make his head ache worse.  
The street was full of people. Some greeted him.  
-My friend, how are you? Feeling better than last night?- a man with an oxcart asked him.  
-Aye, as good as a chicken on a skewer- he answered.  
The man laughed and walked away. He had no idea of who he was.  
-Nemo! There you are!- called a voice.  
He turned to see Rosie and Leyla, together with the lame boy and his grandmother, Alia.  
Leyla jumped on him and stretched her head to kiss him on the cheek, but then pulled a face:- Eww, you smell bad!- she complained.  
-Where have you been?- asked Rosie reproachfully –This morning Mother didn't talk to Ceryl and Ceryl didn't talk to anyone and I asked where you were and Mother said you were in the village and I asked when you were coming back and she said she didn't know and Ceryl said that he hopes that you never come back at all and…-  
In the meantime, Leyla kept leaning close to him, only to wince away before touching him, giggling and holding her nose.  
He felt his head was going to explode.  
-Girls, let him breathe for a moment.- said the crone –You should eat something, you'll feel better.-  
So they walked to old woman's house, which was just outside the village. It was a small wooden cottage with a large meadow where a dozen goats where grazing.  
The children remained outside, while he and the woman walked inside the kitchen.  
Alia boiled the water and poured something in a cup.  
-Here, drink this.- she ordered, handing him the steaming drink –It's good for your head.-  
-What is it?- he enquired suspiciously. The drink had a pungent smell.  
-An infusion of willow bark. Drink it.- she repeated.  
The drink was disgusting, but after a while he did feel his head was stopping to ache.  
Alia gave him some bread toasted on the stove and then, when his stomach felt more steady, scrambled eggs.  
After breaking his fast, he definitely feel better.  
-Thank you, Alia.- he said –That was just what I needed.-  
She chuckled:- I've lived all my life on an island that makes only wine, I sure know what to do for a hangover.-  
-It's a nice little island – he conceded –I guess I will miss it.-  
She raised an eyebrow:-You're leaving.-  
-Aye.- he stood up –it seems I'm no longer welcome here. I should probably go and get my things and I'll be on the next boat.-  
_Things? You don't have anything, except a handful of stags under the hay. And on a boat to where?_  
The crone put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back on the chair. She had an unexpectedly firm grip.  
-Wait.- she sat at the table, in front of him -Is that the way of it? You come here, make a big kerfuffle and then just get up and leave when things become complicated?-  
He blinked:- Who are you to lecture me anyway? You don't even know what happened.-  
-I have eyes and ears and a mind to fill the gaps between the things I've seen and heard.-  
-Well, I don't have much of a choice, do I? She told me to go away and never come back. She hates me.-  
She snorted:-Aye, of course she hates you. She welcomed you in her house, trusted you around her children, accepted your help with her work, probably entrusted you with her secrets, and maybe even bedded you. That's how people behave when they hate someone.-  
He shrugged:-I didn't say she's _always_ hated me. Only since last night.-  
-Listen to me. I've known Mara for a long time, since she was a little girl. She came here from Oldtown, with her father, when she was around Ceryl's age. Her father used to be a maester, but he abandoned the Order. Or maybe he had been expulsed. There were rumours of some scandal. He wasn't born to serve, anyway. Hard-headed as a mule, that one. Hated being told what to do.-  
_And the apple never falls far from the tree_, he mused.  
-Her father worked as a healer and taught her his art. Mind you, he wasn't just a countryside quack, but a proper healer, trained at the Citadel. Probably it got a bit to her head, if you know what I mean. Thought they were better than anyone here.-  
He remembered Jonos at the inn had said as much.  
-She's not nearly as good a healer as he was, anyway, but she makes do. Anyway, she used to be a lonely, weird girl, always by herself. Until she grew up and met Evan. And boy, if I've ever seen two people get head over heels for each other…- she smiled dreamily.  
-Yes, yes- he blurted out –The golden couple.-  
He didn't know why he found the thought annoying.  
She looked at him sideways:- In truth, many people wrinkled their nose. He had inherited that big vine, and everyone here expected him to marry someone from an islander family… oh, well, it's not important anymore. They were a beautiful couple, truly. I remember them, because my son was Evan's friend, he was a witness at their wedding.-  
She looked very old and far away for a moment, but then she sighed and started talking again.  
-Evan was a good man. People liked him. He really listened to them, remembered about what they told him. Mara has always been aloof and mistrustful, but with him she was different too. Almost friendly, I'd say. Like she is when you're there.-  
He laughed:-I wouldn't say she's exactly friendly!-  
-Oh trust me, she's a different person when she's with you. Happier. She's got light in her eyes.-  
He grimaced:-Well, she might find me entertaining enough, but she'd die of shame if anyone saw us together. – he said bitterly- But of course, after that perfect husband of hers, she can scarcely settle on a malformed, misshapen…-  
He didn't have the time to finish, because Alia slapped him hard on the back of his neck.  
-What was that for?- he whimpered.  
-Haven't you listened to a word I said?- she said in exasperation - It's not always about you!-  
He massaged his neck, where Alia had hit him.  
-I don't understand.-  
-She likes you.- she explained –It doesn't make any difference how tall or how straight your legs are. You might as well grow a second head for all it matters, and she still would like you. –  
-Then why did she send me away?- he muttered.  
-Because she's scared. She doesn't trust people easily. She probably feels guilty about Evan, as if she was unfaithful to him. And the fact that the first time you have a discussion she finds you a couple of hours later stinking drunk and fondling Sally doesn't help.-  
-So what do you suggest me to do now?-  
She shrugged:- I don't know. Just be yourself, I guess.-  
-Yes, well, this could be a problem. I don't remember who I am.-  
-You don't remember who you were.- she corrected him. –Find out who you are now.-  
He rose from his chair:-I'll try.-  
-Oh, and Nemo?- she called him –Do take a bath in the meantime.-

He found her on the deck, waiting for a merchant to come and collect some flasks of wine, and checking on a piece of parchment that the amount was correct.  
-Good morrow- he greeted her.  
She lifted her eyes from the parchment:-What do you want?-.  
_Oh, she loves me to pieces, isn't it clear?_  
-I know you are angry with me…-  
-I'm not angry at all- she said, her voice disproving her –why should I?-  
He sniggered bitterly: -Oh, I don't know, because you found me groping that girl and retching in an alley maybe.-  
She looked at the parchment again: -Both you and Sally are consentient grown-ups and whatever you do is none of my business.-  
-Well, that much is true, but I still think it was ill done. You see, I was very drunk. I didn't mean to be with Sally last night. What I really wanted was being with you.-  
-You wanted to grope me in an alley and then retch on me? My knight in shiny armour.-  
He decided to change tactics.  
-How is Ceryl?-  
-He is quite fine.-  
-I was worried about him.-  
That wasn't strictly true: he was sure that the whelp was perfectly alright, but he figured out she might be more inclined to talk about him.  
He wasn't mistaken.  
-He was very upset, but I talked to him, and I think now he is… well, unshaken I hope.-  
_You hope, sweetling, but we know better._  
If he understood something about Ceryl, he was more likely to give both of them hell for half a lifetime than being soothed by some chatting.  
He took her hand:-It was very unfortunate the he stepped in the middle of…everything, like that. It was a bit of a shock for all of us. –  
She withdrew the hand, but not quite so brusquely as she could have:-Well, yes, it was. I guess I reacted more sharply than I should have.-  
_Now, is this an apology?_  
-Let's just forget about it, shall we?- she proposed.  
In the meantime, the merchant's boat had arrived.  
The man was short and pudgy, with a well-trimmed moustache. He looked very nervous.  
-This is the last trip for a while.- he announced –I won't buy anything for at least some months. I'm sailing north.-  
-In the middle of spring?- asked Mara, perplexed –How comes?-  
-Why, haven't you heard? The Ironmen! They're pillaging the coasts, and soon they will pass from here too. They're coming back!-.

**END OF PART 1**

**Thanks so much to those who left comments! **


	8. Chapter 8

In the next days, the news of the raids spread.  
Some fishermen said they heard the Ironmen were on the Reach's coasts, others that they were heading to the Arbor.  
Some islanders wanted to escape: but with the small fishing boats were too small to make it to the mainland, and the Arbor, with its rich manses and prosperous towns, was likely to be more closely searched and therefore was more dangerous than Foul Island.  
They kept receiving news of pillaging and attacks: it seemed like staying on the island was still the safest bet.  
There was an assembly at the inn one night and the decision was unanimous: they would hide in the mountain and wait for the raiders to pass.  
The island was small and not very rich: there was no gold or silks to steal, only cows and goats and wine.  
-They will burn the vine again.- Mara complained –After all we've done to make it healthy…-  
He squeezed her shoulder:- Better the vine than you . Plants can be sowed again.-  
They hadn't talked about the events of that night again: somehow, it didn't seem important anymore.  
He had gone back home with her, and she behaved just like before, only a little more gingerly, as if she was afraid of what would happen if she would simply let go.  
Ceryl had given him some bad looks, and he still didn't talk with him much, but he, like everyone, had more pressing worries.

Dorrel had organized watches from the peaks on the shores, so that the village could be warned to run away when the Ironmen arrived.  
There were four peaks at the four cardinal points of the island: the shifts were many, so even women, boys and girls often had to be on the look-out.  
In every other moment, they were carrying their savings to the mountain.  
The general rule they had given was not to bring everything of value: if the Ironmen found something to take in the village, they'd sooner be placated and they would not look for the rest in the recessed of the island. However, many people didn't want to part with their belongings, and this generated endless discussions among the islanders.  
Questions like "Why did he get to bring all his money when I had to leave my goats?" or "Why could he take two casks of wine when I could carry only one?" where always cause for a fight.

Mara was growing more and more nervous everyday: she kept snapping at the children and looking at the sea with anguish.  
He could hear that she didn't manage to sleep at night, and looked older and gaunter than ever.  
She didn't even argue with the other islanders about what to carry in the mountain.  
The only belonging that she was interested in keeping was a chest that, she told him, had inherited from her father.  
-What's in it?- he had inquired.  
-Books and scrolls. I can't read them, they're not in the Common Tongue. But I still want to keep them.- she said.  
-May I?- he asked, pointing at the chest.  
-Yes, go on.-  
They were old: the parchment was dry, and worn in many spots. But they were kept tolerably well, and they could still be read.  
He recognized the glyphs at once:-They're in High Valyrian.- he said.  
-Oh, really? Father taught me some words, but I can't read it.-  
They sat next to the trunk, pulling the books out and browsing them gingerly.  
-What are they about?- she asked.  
-This is a history of Oldtown, from before the unification of the Seven Kingdoms.- he leafed through another scroll -This is a maester's book… about chemistry, I think. And this –he opened another book –is about warcraft.-  
-How comes you can read High Valyrian?- she asked.  
-I have no idea. I just can.-  
-Maybe you are a maester, too.-  
He shrugged:-Mayhaps. I don't know.-  
She picked another book from the chest and stroked the letters on the pages:-It's quite mysterious isn't it? So much knowledge at hand, and not being able to decipher it.-  
-Aye. There's so much that was discovered and then forgotten. Perhaps the cure for the wine's plague had always been right there under your nose.- he took a look at the book she was holding and grinned –Well, perhaps not right there.-  
-Why? What is this?-  
He took the book:-Are you sure you want to know?-  
-Yes!-  
-This ancient and noble tome –he announced, in a solemn voice -contains the adventures of Xhanda Ro, a courtesan from the Summer Islands most skilled in the arts of lovemaking.-  
She stared incredulously:- It doesn't.-  
-I swear it on my honour.-  
-But I thought books in High Valyrian were only for…you know, serious subjects.- she sniggered –Father looked so serious when he read them.-  
He flipped through the pages:-Oh, if only you had known!-  
They giggled together. It was a good feeling. For a moment she looked like she had forgotten all about the Ironmen and the raids, and resembled more the girl that could make a boy fall in love with a single smile.

Rosie stormed inside:- Mother!- she yelled –Oh, there you are. What's that?- she asked, noticing the books.  
Mara blushed crimson and closed the book abruptly:-Nothing. What's going on? Where's your sister?-  
-She's with Alia. I was there too with Kerr- that was the name of the goat boy –and some men… and that man too… There was a cow, and then they yelled, and…- the tale became confused.  
-Let's go and see.- she said, taking her by the hand.

When they arrived at the mountain entrance, they found half the village was there.  
He noticed Ceryl with his friends; everyone was looking at the two people beside the cave.  
Dorrel and Ben were quarrelling vividly.  
-I'm not leaving her here, I said!- yelled Ben.  
-For the last time – Dorrel said wearily –You can't bring the cow inside. She'd make noise and give us away. It's too dangerous!-  
-She's the only thing I own!-  
-He's right, you know.- commented Tarq –You rich guys can bring your silver, while all we have is out here to be stolen.-  
Sally rolled her eyes and shouted:-But it doesn't make any difference if they find us!-  
Ben gave Dorrel a push, and tried to make the cow move into the mountain.  
Dorrel caught him by the arm and threw him on the ground.  
Some people tried to come between them, others to defend the one or the other. Soon it looked like everybody was fighting.  
Alia reached them, pushing Leya and Kerr before her:-You have to make them stop!- she urged.  
He shrugged:-If we try, we'd get caught in the fight too.-  
-Look!- she said, pointing at the mountain wall.  
Over the hole of the cave, he noticed some boulders in a precarious position. Whenever people pushed each other against the mountain wall, they seemed to tremble.  
-Stop!- he screamed.

But it was too late.  
The cow became suddenly frightened and she tried to make her way out of the fight, but she was blocked among all the people. She started running around, getting more and more hysterical, until she crashed against the mountain wall.

For a split second nothing happened, and he thought that maybe the boulders would stay where they were.  
But then then there was a creepy crackling sound, and, slowly but unstoppably, the rocks moved, and fell.  
He instinctively grabbed Leyla to move them far from the impact, and put himself between them and the rocks. He realized that Mara was doing the same with Rosie.

There was a loud crash, and the air became dusty and impossible to breathe.  
When he opened his eyes, both he and Mara were covered in yellow dust, but otherwise unharmed. The girls had been sheltered by their bodies, so they had very little dust on them.  
Leya started to cry.  
-Don't cry- he said, picking her up and tracing a line on the dust of his cheek to show it to her –It's only really small rocks, you see?-  
-Ceryl!- exclaimed Mara –He was here… I saw him!-

They moved closer to where the rocks had fallen.  
Ben's cow had been crushed by the boulders. She had probably died on the spot.  
Observing more closely, he saw that also her owner had suffered the same fate.  
_Poor Ben_, he thought.  
Other people had been hit by the stones: Dorrel's hand looked wounded, and others had bruised limbs or minor wounds.

-Where is Ceryl?- Mara kept asking frantically.  
-Look, he's there!- said Rosie.  
Ceryl's face was hidden by a layer of dust, and he was crouched next to one of his friends, who had his right foot hit by a rock.  
-Mother, look at Corr!- he said.  
She embraced him:-Are you alright?- she asked, checking his face and his head for bruises.  
-Yes, yes, I'm fine.- he replied, suddenly embarrassed –It's Corr's foot that was hit.-  
-Oh thanks the Seven! I mean- she corrected herself- I'm sorry for your foot Corr. Here, don't move it, I'll take a look at it.-

In the sudden relief because they all were alright it took him a while before realizing what had happened.  
-The mountain!- someone said – the entrance is collapsed. We can't go in there anymore.-  
For a moment everyone seemed too dumbfounded to speak. The silence was unnatural.  
Then they heard the distant sound of a bell.  
Suddenly, all the people started to scream, or cry, or run away.  
-What is it?- he asked.  
Mara was very pale:-It means they're coming.-

He went to the shore, because he had to see it.  
There was nowhere to hide, anyway.  
He went to the north peak, the closest to the harbour.  
He saw it too: a ship, huge, terrifying, with big white sails.  
_They're coming_, he thought. _We're doomed._  
Ceryl was staring at the ship with big round eyes.  
-It's so big…- he said, in awe. The boy had almost forgotten how scared he was.  
Next to him, Mara frowned.  
-There's something wrong.- she said.  
He squeezed her hand:-You should not stay here. You should take Ceryl, Rosie and Leyla and go hiding somewhere in the middle of the island…-  
-No, no – she insisted- That's not what I meant. The ship – she pointed at it- These are not Ironmen.-

As the ship approached, he could see she was right.  
It was enormous, at least thrice the size of the big longships they sometimes saw at the harbour.  
Its deck was painted in many bright colours, and there were many figureheads, mostly depicting birds.  
"Feathered Kiss" was written on one side, in elaborately carved letters.  
When it docked in their small harbour, it seemed to fill it completely.  
A crowd had gathered in front of it. Many people were frightened, but curiosity won the fear.  
He caught a glimpse of some people of the crew: their skin was as dark as ebony.  
-Summer Islanders- he said.  
What was a ship from the Summer Islands doing there?

The ship tied up, and finally a plank was cast on the deck.  
The first man that descended was a slim, comely youth, who wore a maester's chain around his neck.  
His skin was dark, but not as dark as the others', he thought.  
Dorrel approached him.  
-Are you here to pillage?- he said.  
_If so, please help yourself_, he thought, and almost laughed. It sounded so absurd.  
The young maester looked puzzled:- No.- he said –We're here for the dragon.-


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks to The Mad-Reader for keeping leaving comments!** **You're the best!**

-The dragon?- repeated Dorrel, incredulous –There's no dragon here.-  
-There must be- the youth insisted –I know there is.-  
He had a soft, boyish voice, with a musical Dornish accent.  
In the meantime, other people stepped on the deck: a tall, handsome woman from the Summer Islands and a Westerosi young man, fat and all clad in black.  
-How would you know?- asked Dorrel.  
The young maester ignored the question and started discussing with his companions in a low voice.  
He caught some of the words.  
-They're not lying, they don't know…-  
-But the flame! I saw it!–  
Meanwhile, also Dorrel and a group of other islanders were chatting among themselves.  
His eyes got from one group of people to other.  
-My friends- Dorrel said eventually –There must be some misunderstanding. We've all heard the tales of a dragon on the mainland, at King's Landing, but there's no such thing here. I think you are in the wrong place.-  
The young maester exchanged a glance with the fat one:- Mayhaps you're right.-  
Meanwhile, his mind was racing.  
He had no idea of what they were talking about, obviously. But could this turn to their advantage.  
If only the ship would stay, if…  
-Wait, I pray. – he exclaimed -There might or might not be a dragon here.-  
All the eyes turned to him.  
The newcomers stared at him with suspicion: he could feel their cautious eyes lingering on his scars, his face, his stunted legs. The islanders, on the other hand, were just perplexed.  
-What do you mean?- asked the maester warily.  
-I mean that this island has many secrets and more. Secrets that speak of magic, of supernatural powers, and perhaps of dragons too.-  
The islanders looked at each other, probably asking themselves how they had never suspected these incredible wonders.  
_You could at least try and fake it_, he thought, exasperated. At least no one was openly contradicting him.  
-Secrets.- repeated the tall woman –Like what, I pray?-  
-Oh, but who in this world could tell you? We are just allowed to see hints, glimpses. There are legends.- he gestured towards the mountain in the island -Legends of creatures hidden in the depths of the mountains, inside the maze of tunnels that no one has ever completely explored.-  
Actually almost all the islanders had explored the tunnels and knew perfectly well which ways they should avoid and which were safe, where they could find the underground lakes and streams and what were dry and could be used for storage. But the strangers didn't need to know _that_.  
Luckily Mara came in his help:-And there are the springs, where an extraordinary water streams.-  
-What kind of water?- asked the Westerosi young man.  
-Special water, very… very magical.- she was groping for words, he could see –Rich in sulphur. Sulphur is an element linked to dragons, as you probably know.-  
_That's a nice touch. _Although he suspected she had invented it.  
-Obsidian is linked to dragons. Sulphur has nothing to do with them.- the fat one, in fact, reminded her.  
-Ah, but sulphur is connected with fire, and fire has everything to do with dragons.- he said helpfully –If an island might hide a dragon, than definitely it could be this.-  
The strangers exchanged uncertain glances.  
-Very well- the fat young man said –Can you take us to where all this magic takes place?-  
He pulled a forlorn face:-I'm so sorry. I'd be happy to help you in your quest but… the island is at peril right now.-  
-From the Ironmen, you mean?-  
-Aye. We've heard rumours of raids in the Arbor, and we suspect that they will head here next.-  
The tall woman nodded:- The Queen has taken over Dorne and the Reach, where they had settled some five years ago, and she's heading to Oldtown. The Ironmen are still keeping the Shield Islands, so they're probably going back there. They're quite desperate. Everything that's on the way, it will likely be raided mercilessly.-  
-And if they find the dragon first…- he suggested.  
-… then may the gods help us all.- finished the woman.  
An uncertain silence followed.  
Finally Dorrel seemed to have grasped the meaning of his tactic: -Of course, there _could_ be a way.- he mused –If we managed to protect the island against the attack, then you'd be free to search for your dragon at your leisure.-  
The Westerosi man turned to the young maester: -Are you sure of what you saw in the flame?-  
-Yes. – he replied –It will be found here.-  
-We must discuss- ordered the woman.  
They went back to the ship.  
He and the islanders waited on the dock. The tension was palpable.  
-Why are these people brown?- he heard Rosie asking.  
-Because they are from the Summer Islands.- replied Ceryl.  
-And why are the Summer Islands brown?-  
-I don't know.- he admitted.  
-That's because the sun is very hot there, and so they have to be tanned or it would burn their skin.- Mara said.  
Rosie's face lightened:-So if I go to there, I will become brown too?-  
-Well, a bit maybe, but not as much as them.-  
-Oh.- she commented, disappointed.  
-I'm sorry.- Mara smiled, despite the distress, kissing her on the hair.  
The three people re-emerged from the ship's deck.  
-We will help you.- said the maester –But the ship doesn't go into battle. They're merchants, not soldiers. And then you will assist us in our quest. All dragons or dragon related items that you will find on the island will be ours.-  
Dorrel smiled, relieved:- It's a deal.-  
For a moment he thought Dorrel was going to spit on his hand and offer it to the maester to shake it, but then apparently he thought better.

The young maester's name was Alleras, he learned, although some had nicknamed him "Sphinx" and the ship crew seemed to call him so. He had recently sworn his maester's oath.  
The Westerosi fat man was a sworn brother of the Night's Watch and an acolyte at the Citadel: his name was Samwell Tarly.  
The tall woman's name was Khalaya and she was the captain of the "Feathered Kiss". He tried to understand her age, but failed. She could have been five and twenty, or maybe past forty.  
He couldn't figure out how the three were linked in their quest, but it seemed to him that Alleras looked at her with much more respect than what usually maesters showed for ship captains.  
-This is very queer- Mara had whispered to him –Maesters don't care about magic. It's just superstition. They should know more than anyone else.-  
**-**I don't care who they are or what they want- he had replied –as long as they help us with the Ironmen.-  
Unfortunately, neither Alleras nor Samwell had forged their iron link yet, the one that symbolized the art of warcraft.  
However, Khalaya seemed to have experience in dealing with pirates and raiders.  
Most of the ship's crew spoke nothing but the Summer Tongue. A couple of them patted him on the head the first time he went on board, to his great bafflement. Khalaya yelled something harsh-sounding at them.  
Later she explained him that having a dwarf on the ship was considered a good omen. None of them ever touched him again, but they always seemed quite well-disposed towards him anyway.  
Whenever they left the ship, they wore bright-coloured feathered clothes.  
They often exercised at archery, bending great carved bows.  
Ceryl was fascinated by them and he, Lom and Corr could spent hours watching them hitting the targets painted on the trees.  
He understood that, although the ship crew answered only to their captain, the leader of the expedition was Alleras.  
He was a very secretive person. He spent more time listening to other people than doing the talking. He could see that he was knee-deep into some kind of magic or sorcery, that, apparently, would lead him to the mysterious dragons they were looking for.  
Despite his maester's chain, half the girls of the village had instantly fallen in love with him: he was slender, soft-spoken and very comely. He even spotted Mara staring at him intently, with her eyebrows locked, as there was something about him that she couldn't quite grasp.  
Alleras, though, never returned any of the wenches' attention.  
_Does he really believe in his oath,_ he wondered, _or is he attracted to another kind of prey?_

He also liked the man of the Night's Watch, Sam.  
He had a quantity of books and scrolls in his cabin, and together they went through anything they could find about warcraft, including the book he had found in Mara's chest.  
Sam was not a fighter, he claimed, but he could see that he had an analytical mind and that he wasn't afraid to admit the weaknesses they had.  
Among the newcomers, he was the one he liked best. Alleras was too cryptic, and Khalaya seemed to have only his ship's interests on the forefront of her mind. With Sam, he felt they were speaking the same tongue.  
-You are a maester, aren't you?- he told him once.  
-An acolyte- Sam corrected him -I'm not a maester yet.-  
-But you have forged some of your links. You studied at the Citadel. And Alleras, too. How comes you all believe in prophecies, sorcery and legends?-  
Sam's face went very serious:-I saw them. The Others. The White Walkers beyond the Wall.-  
He laughed:- Yes, and what else? Snarks and grumkins?-  
-You don't believe me. I understand. I wouldn't believe it, if I didn't see it with my own eyes.-  
-Listen, my friend. I don't doubt that you saw something inexplicable and that you thought... well, assumed...-  
-No, no- he interrupted him -I know what I saw. I saw the dead walking. I saw them rising and kill my brothers.-  
A chill crept down his spine. He had a strange feeling, like he had heard that before.  
-I killed one, but that was just for chance. Sam the Slayer, they called me. But they're getting stronger and stronger. -Sam continued -We need a dragon to fight them, otherwise the realm will be doomed.-  
-Is that why you three are looking for it?-  
-That's why _I_ am looking for it. Alleras has his own reasons.-  
-What reasons?-  
Sam sighed:-I don't know.- he confessed.

The "Feathered Kiss" had been on the island for only three days, but already they seemed to have changed their life.  
If before, since the news of the Ironmen raids had spread, a sense of doom lingered on the islanders. Now, instead, it had been replaced by some sort of hysterical enthusiasm.  
Even if no one had actually said it out loud, it was soon clear that all the islanders, including its oldest and most prominent inhabitants like Dorrel or Tarq, considered him to be the island's spokesperson and the one in charge with organizing the resistance with the Summer Islanders.  
Not that there were many alternatives. None of the islanders had ever engaged in any battle: all the men that might have decided to fight against the raids had died in the first Ironmen attack.  
Jonos and other men declared they wanted to fight, but they lacked any kind of plan except "wait for the Ironmen and kick them in the arse".  
He seemed to be the only one with a sense of strategy. Mara could have been another candidate, but she knew little and less about weapons, and she wasn't very inclined to gather people around her. She felt better with few people around.  
Also the crew and the passengers of the "Feathered Kiss" always dealt with him, without anyone telling them to.  
There was something rewarding about being the one people looked up to. He found he liked it.  
_I have done this before_, he realized. He didn't know when or why, but it all came too naturally for him.  
_How have I learned this?_  
The mystery of his identity never bothered him that much. He supposed he must have been a mummer, an actor of some sort. That was what usually dwarves were.  
Or at least, so he assumed. Thinking twice, he realized he had no idea.  
But there were too many elements that didn't fit in this hypothesis: he was cultured, he could read High Valyrian. He could glance at a map and immediately figure out which were the areas easier to defend.  
_Who am I, really?_


	10. Chapter 10

**WARNING: CHANGE OF RATING IN THIS CHAPTER**

-We're not fighters- announced Sam -that's why we must find a way not to get to a hand-to-hand battle.-  
They were in the captains' cabin, with Khalaya, Alleras and Mara. They were surrounded by scrolls and maps.  
-Aye -Khalaya agreed -there are not many men on this island. My sailors need to stay on the ship. If they get here, half the people would be slaughtered, and the other half kidnapped.-  
-We must be crafty.- he agreed -We might poison the wells so if they get ashore to take fresh water supplies they'd all die.-  
-But we need the water too.- protested Mara -And then how would you be sure that if they take prisoners they won't drink the poisoned water?-  
-The only solution is to keep them at bay as long as possible.- said Khalaya, handing him one of the bows.  
-They are made of goldenheart- she explained –They can send a shaft farther than any Westerosi bow.-  
He balanced a bow in his hand: it looked beautiful and powerful, strong without being heavy, but it was much too big for his arms. _Too bad_.  
-And this will keep them at distance?- he asked.  
She shrugged:-It depends. If they don't want to risk, they might go and look for an easier prey. But if they are desperate for loot, they might engage in a battle anyway.-  
-So, most likely they will continue the attack.-  
-They will. But we still have some time.- Alleras said.  
He cocked his head: -How do you know?-  
The maester simply smiled:-I saw it.-  
He shook his head.  
He found Alleras's habit of answering every explanation claiming that he had visions very unnerving.  
-So, in short, we can't keep them at distance and we can't fight them directly- resumed Sam- What should we do?-  
-What is the thing that a ship is most vulnerable to?- asked Mara  
-Fire, I guess.- he answered, thinking hard -But how can we set their ships on fire without risking to spread a fire on the island?-  
-For your information, I'm not risking to have my ship burnt or attacked.- reminded him Khalaya. -We're not getting anywhere near them.-  
-Then what we need is a miracle.- said Mara, frustrated.  
-No, sweetling.- A seed of a plan was starting to form in his mind.  
-What we need- he said -is a dragon.-

Alleras claimed they still had at least some days before the attack.  
He had put all the men available to build some rough fortifications on the peaks of the island.  
They were little more than wooden cabins with a ladder inside, and they could offer no protection in case of direct attack, but they could be used as a basis for a counter offensive.  
They also worked trebuchets, pulleys and spikes.  
Khalaya had also agreed to make his crew help them.  
Ceryl had insisted to go.  
He didn't do much for the actual construction, but learned to say a bunch of sentences in the Summer Tongue, including "Hello", "Thanks" and something that made all the sailors laugh (he suspected it was "fuck off"), and convinced one of them to let him try and shoot and arrow with one of their bows.  
Rosie and Leyla were usually with Alia and Kerr, even if Rosie also liked to follow Sam around, asking him all sorts of questions about Oldtown, the Wall and magic. She seemed to have taken a liking to him.  
He had to admit that the young man had a lot of patience.  
-She's a cute girl- Sam told him -She reminds me of my sister Talla.  
Sam was busy boiling the Foul Water to extract the sulphur, while Mara went from house to house looking for the nitrate that was used as soap. Sam often checked some scrolls about chemistry with Alleras, who distilled a foul-smelling brew in many big cauldrons.  
Alleras and Mara also often talked about healing.  
Once one of the islanders that were building the fortifications had injured himself with a nail, and went searching for Mara.  
As she extracted it from his hand and bandaged it, he heard Alleras saying:- You should have been a maester. You'd have forged your silver link in no time.-  
-Oh thank you- she smiled, shrugging -Too bad I was born a woman, eh?-  
Alleras smiled cryptically:- Isn't that a pity?-  
He felt a stab of annoyance. It grated on him to see them close.  
-So, Sphinx.- he chimed in -what does your flame says? Where are the Ironmen?-  
-I sense some scepticism, Nemo. What am I to do to convince you?-  
-Oh, I don't know. Perhaps you could show me.-  
He had expected it to find some excuse, or to shrug the question away with one of his enigmatic smiles.  
-Very well.- Alleras said, instead -Follow me.-  
He took him to his cabin on the ship, where he saw a tall black candle burning.  
-What is it?- he asked.  
-It's dragonglass. Obsidian.-  
That was no ordinary candle: the light was too bright and the shadows seemed more dark than they should have.  
_So you're really a sorcerer, boy._  
-Is this where you've seen the dragon?- he asked, touching the flame with his hand. It didn't even flicker.  
-Aye. And not only that.-  
He stared at the candle intently: at first he could only see bright, blinding light. Then, in the midst of it, he thought he could make out some shadows. Was that a wing... a claw? If he concentrated hard enough he thought he could hear a shriek... He felt a horrible chill going down his spine.  
He blinked and averted his eyes.  
-Do you believe it now?- Alleras asked.  
_Oh yes, _he thought_._  
-I've seen you, you know? In the flame.-  
-Me?-  
-Aye. A small man, a big shadow. Somehow you are connected with all this.-  
That was an interesting notion. Although he had doubts about Alleras's ability to interpret whatever image she saw in that candlelight. Oh, the boy was smart, he didn't doubt that. But he thought there were dragons on Foul Island, after all.  
_And I helped him believe it. If we survive all this, I wonder how long it will take before he'll realise he was conned._  
-Have you always been a farmer?- Alleras asked.  
-For as long as I can remember.-  
The maester only smiled. He could see why he was called Sphinx.

-It's going to be on the morrow.- he said at last.  
He sighed. He knew it had to happen sooner or later.  
_By tomorrow evening we could all be dead._  
-How many ships?- he asked.  
Alleras shook his head:-I couldn't tell. It was very dark. Very confused.-  
They finished the last preparations: strengthening the fortifications, prepare the weapons, stock up the provisions.  
Khalaya took the "Feathered Kiss" out in the sea, as they had decided.  
Only the crones and the children went into hiding upcountry: he had to give a task even to the women, since there weren't enough men to fight.  
Mara embraced the children, choking back her own tears. They would go to hide with Alia, in some cave in the inland she knew because the goats sometimes would go there.  
-Be good and always listen to Alia.- she told them.  
She gave Leyla her favourite stuffed toy, and kissed Rosie on the head.  
-I don't want to hide.- protested Ceryl -I'm almost a grown up. I want to help. I can shoot arrows with the bow. I'm taller than him!- he said, pointing at him scornfully.  
_Thank you very much Ceryl. Always the charmer._  
-You are helping me- said Mara, making him turn his head so that the boy would look her in the eyes -You're taking care of your sisters. I would die of worry if I didn't know you weren't there with them.-  
-Alia is doing that...-  
She lowered her voice:-Alia is old. You have to listen to her, but if anything should happen, you're my right-hand man, understand?-  
This mellowed him a bit:-Fine...- he reluctantly said in the end.  
Rosie hugged him tightly:-See you soon, Nemo.-  
-Yes.- he said, kissing her and Leya on the brow -Very soon.-  
_I don't keep any god, but if I did, I would pray the Mother for you, sweetling._  
He held Mara's hand as she was watching the children leave with Alia.  
-You should have gone too.- commented Alleras, approaching them -The Ironmen are always looking for salt wives and thralls. Women are in the greatest danger.-  
-If they're salt wives they're looking for, then we all are in the same danger, aren't we?- she replied, staring at him.  
_Aye, such a pretty boy, surely there would be some Ironmen that preferred him to any wench._  
He expected the young maester to reply something witty, but Alleras lowered his gaze, looking embarrassed.  
That surprised him… but perhaps the young man was more touchy than he looked.  
Sam was very nervous: he kept pacing the dock up and down, repeating "Mother have mercy" hysterically.  
-Sam, calm yourself.- he told him.  
-I can't. I'm no fighter. I'm just a craven!- he yelled.  
-You're not a craven. You're Sam the Slayer. Surely the Ironmen can't be worse than walking dead.-  
He thought about it -Well, yes, I suppose...- he conceded.  
-There are many ways to fight. Perhaps you're not strong, or a skilled fighter. But you have your mind... your mind is your weapon. And tomorrow we're going to put it to use.-  
-I'll just be in the way and...-  
-You won't. You are to command the West fort.- "West Fort" was quite a pompous name for a wooden box with some slits for windows to shoot arrows, but that seemed to give courage to the men. -Don't let me down, Sam.-  
He shook his head:-I'll try. I wish I was more like you.-  
He laughed:-You wish you were a noseless dwarf?-  
-Well, not that part of you in particular. I'm already fat.-  
He couldn't help smiling:- Nobody's perfect.-

Then dusk came.  
He went from one fort to the other, checking that everything was in place, and that all was set.  
Alleras and Sam were at the inn, talking intently to one another.  
He considered the idea of joining them but he went at Mara's house, instead. If that was his last night, he wanted to spend it in a place where he felt at home.  
He found her there, sitting on his hay bed.  
-What are you doing all alone in the dark?- he asked, lighting up a taper on the hearth, then another.  
He saw that she had cried.  
-I'm so frightened.- she whispered.  
He embraced her:-Me too.-  
-Ceryl and Rosie and Leyla...-  
-...are with Alia. She's a smart one, that Alia. Hard to kill. They are as safe as they can be with her.-  
-It's not only them I'm afraid for. I'm scared for myself too. I don't want to die or...- she grimaced -...worse. And I'm scared for you.-  
-Don't worry about me. I've already survived whipping, a be-nosing and a shipwreck, and I don't even remember them.-  
She pulled back from the embrace to look him in the eyes.  
-I don't want you to die.- she said.  
He leaned forward and kissed her mouth.  
She kissed him back, hungrily, with urgency, as that was their last day in the world.  
_Which it might as well be._  
She reached out for his manhood inside his breeches and found it hard; when she squeezed it, he thought he could almost explode there and then.  
As he undressed, she took off her gown and tossed it aside.  
He had often wondered what her breasts would feel like: he discovered they were soft, their skin as smooth as satin. He cupped them, and sucked lightly at her nipples, making them stiffen.  
She took his face in her hands, pulling him atop her. -Come here.-  
He felt she was very wet.  
-You want me.- he marvelled.  
-Yes.- she said.  
He didn't know why he found it so surprising (she was kissing him and touching him, _of course_ she wanted him), and yet feeling her desire was somehow unexpected and even more arousing.  
When he pushed himself inside her, she moaned and grasped his buttocks.  
It was too much: it felt too good, too sweet, too intoxicating, and he came almost at once.  
She looked surprised when she understood, and slightly taken aback.  
He rolled off, breathing heavily and feeling embarrassed.  
-I'm sorry, I...- he stuttered.  
_I over-reacted like a beardless boy at his first taste of manhood. Damn!_  
He looked around, searching for his clothes.  
-What are you doing?- she asked, puzzled -Come back here.-  
Reluctantly, he laid down again.  
_That was humiliating.  
_Despite that first moment of surprise, she didn't seem to be very disheartened, though.  
She kissed him again, on the neck and on his chest, tracing the outline of his scars with the lips.  
_Why does she still want me?_  
He knew that his body was twisted and misshapen, but she seemed to like it anyway.  
When he relaxed and started to kiss her back, she took his hand and guided it to her secret sweetness, showing him how to pleasure her.  
Soon, he was ready again.  
The second time, he managed to last longer. He was already feeling the first rushes of his climax, when she stopped following his movements. -Slow down, my love- she whispered -There's no hurry.-  
He stilled inside her, resting his head on the crook of her neck, feeling the rumble of his heart inside his ears.  
She pushed him softly on his back and climbed atop him.  
She started with a slow, regular rhythm, that hastened gradually to slow down abruptly when he was about to come, bringing him closer and closer to the edge without letting him explode.  
It was much better than his night fantasies, he thought.  
He brushed the secret spot she had showed him every time she slammed down on him, until she gave a shudder and he felt the muscles of her thighs contracting. Then, he couldn't stop himself anymore.

They were lying on the bed, dozing off at times, but neither of them could really sleep.  
He had his head pillowed on her breasts, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin.  
Her body was a wonder to him: her soft skin, the curve of her hips and the muscles of her legs, that felt stronger than they looked, but also the scars on her arms, the deep line at the centre of her brow and the stretch marks on her belly.  
Somehow, he found himself charmed by the imperfections that made her truly herself.  
She was caressing his back, tracing the line of his scars with the fingers, like roads and rivers on a map. He wondered if she felt the same.  
Nothing seemed real in that moment: nor the impending battle, or the ships, or the forts...  
He thought he should probably get up and get ready, but at the same time he didn't want to move, because if he did, everything would become real again.  
_Just a little longer_, he thought.  
-I don't remember ever bedding any woman before, so, technically, I was a maid before tonight.- he said.  
-Oh, I see. I'm sorry, should I have been more gentle?-  
He pretended to ponder the question:-Why, yes, you could have coaxed me a bit more... made me feel _special_...-  
She giggled and pinched him on his side.  
He feigned indignation: -Is that the way of it, woman? You steal my virtue and then you pinch me?-  
-Yes.-  
He pinched her back, so she rolled over him and blocked his hands on his sides.  
-Seven save me!- he said theatrically -I've been kidnapped by a she-bear and now I have to satisfy all her perverse desires!-  
She nodded:-Just so.-. She covered his mouth with hers.  
_Just a little longer, _he thought_, not much more._  
A distant, yet unmistakable sound shook them.  
The clanging of the village bell filled the village, the hills, the streams and the beaches.  
-It's too soon.- he said -Alleras said...-  
-Alleras was wrong, it seems.- she said, jumping off the bed and putting her clothes back on.  
He dressed himself as fastly as he could.  
The sound of the bell kept filling his ears.  
Outside the cottage there was still no one, and the ships were nowhere in sight.  
Mara had to go to the west side of the island, while he would have stayed on the east side.  
-Mara, please – he started as they had to part. There were many things he wanted to say. Too many confused thoughts filled his head. -Be careful.- he only said at last.  
She nodded:- You too.-. She hugged him tightly for a short moment, then hurried away.

The alarm bell kept ringing, spreading a sense of danger and urgency.  
He ran to the East fort as fast as his legs allowed him.  
The village was crowded with people running around, yelling to one another.  
-Nemo! The Seven be praised! Where were you?- shouted Dorrel, spotting him in the crowd.  
-Why is everyone here? Why aren't they going where we planned?- he asked.  
-We were waiting for you.-  
He blinked in disbelief:-Why?-  
Dorrel looked uneasy: -We just thought… you always know what to do, so…-  
-You know what to do too.- he said impatiently –We've decided it together, remember?-  
He climbed on the well in the centre of the square, careful not to fall in.  
-People of Foul Island!- he called.  
The crowd gathered around him and stood in silence.  
Why were they listening to him, he asked himself.  
_Because there's no one else._  
-The Ironmen are almost on our shore. Now, don't let fear overwhelm you. We might not have long, fast ships like them, and we may not be knights and soldiers…-  
He looked at their faces, men, women, old men, even girls and boys with the first signs of a beard.  
There was something exhilarating in seeing them hanging on his words.  
-But we have something that they don't have. We have…- he paused, observing them holding their breath –we have the surprise. The unexpected. They come here, thinking they'll find sheep to slaughter, thinking they have nothing to fear, and believing that they can just come and take everything you've worked, and sweated and bled for. Instead, we'll fight!-  
-Yes!- someone cried.  
-You won't hear me call out a king's name, or tell you that it's the gods that want it. This is your island those man mean to sack…- he shouted –Let's go kill them!-  
The crowd shouted their approval, waving their swords, and their pitchforks and their bows, and yelling his name.  
_Seven save me_, he thought, _I like this._

**As always, reviews are welcome! *puppy eyes***


	11. Chapter 11

He finally managed to get to the East fort, walking as fast as his legs allowed him.  
It was already crowded with people.  
Some smiled at him, other patted him on his back, all greeted him somehow.  
He finally found Alleras, observing the sea with a spyglass. Sam was on the West Fort. He would have preferred him to be with at his side, but he didn't want to leave Mara and Alleras alone.  
-You said "on the morrow"!- he accused Alleras.  
-Well, yes, this kind of visions tend to be not so precise.- he replied defensively.  
-You could have warned me!-  
It was no good to get upset with him now.  
He took the spyglass he was handing him.

He could see five longships approaching the island. They were using the morning tide, hoping not to be seen against the rising sun.  
The brazier over the North fort lightning up. Then the West fort, where Mara was, lightened up, and then the South. If everything went as planned there would be no battle in the South corner.  
_Now I can just pray Khalaya saw the flames._  
And the ships were getting closer and closer.  
_Khalaya, where are you?_

Then, finally, a single arrow crossed the sky, looking almost like a falling star.  
It seemed to him that it had hit the closest of the ships.  
The "Feathered Kiss" emerged from behind a cliff, and shot a volley of burning arrow against the ship, sinking into its deck.

The ships started to zig zag across the rain of arrows.  
They were clearly used to this kind of attacks.  
One of the ships was almost at the entrance of the bay.  
-Alleras- he said –it's time to use the pitch.-  
He heard the sound of an horn playing two different sounds, and realized that Sam and Mara had come to the same conclusion.  
Coordinating the two forts on the side of the bay proved a tricky point, so Sam and Alleras had come up with a code based on the notes played by the horns.  
Alleras played the same sounds (the signal for "pitch"),sending the message that they were agreeing.

They charged the trebuchet they were keeping on the cliff: there was another one, its twin, on the west fort.  
Alleras blew the horn again to coordinate the launch with the other trebuchet.  
-Charge…hold…hold…. Loose!- he shouted.  
Two symmetrical dark projectiles of burning pitch rose in the air, then fell on the ship closest to the bay, setting it on fire.  
He could already see the sailors rushing to quench the flames.  
-Again!- he ordered –Charge… hold…loose!-

A second charge hit the ship. This time it wasn't pitch, but black powder again.  
At the same time, Khalaya's arrows plunged on the ship.  
Nothing happened.

Alleras sighed:-It's not work...-  
Before he could finish the sentence, the ship lightened up like a funeral pyre then exploded with a loud boom.  
He looked at the destroyed pieces of wood falling into the sea with an open mouth. Even he didn't expect it to be so lethal.  
-It seems to me that it's working well enough.- he managed to say eventually.

The mixture was a variation on the traditional black powder, that Sam and Mara had spent the last few days distilling. He wondered what the two of them were thinking, in the fort on the other side of the gulf.  
_One down, four to go._

The other ships continued to travel towards the island.  
-It's not going to be that easy with the others.- Alleras warned him.  
The ships split up the formation: one went towards the east side of the island, one to the west while the last two stayed behind, perhaps considering if the attack was worth the risk.  
One of the ships was just below their cliff now, too close to the rocks to use the trebuchet.  
_Surely they can't try and dock here._

But they did: the ship moved as close as possible to the rocks, and some sailors started to climb them swiftly, while others launched arrows towards the fort.  
He heard the hiss of an arrow right next to his right ear.  
-The pitch!- he screamed –Here!-  
They couldn't toss the pitch as they did to the burnt ship: their only choice was to pour it on them.  
He saw the sailors being hit by the liquid and turn into living torches: they were so close he could see their faces and smell the burning meat of their bodies.  
He marvelled at how coolly he reacted at the sight.  
_How many men have I seen dying? How many have I killed myself?_

It was no time to wonder about it, though. The ship stopped the volleys and detached itself from the coast, moving back into the open sea.  
-The trebuchet!- he ordered.  
When Alleras had taken the aim of it, he yelled: –Charge, hold…loose!-  
They tossed the black powder, then they drew a volley of burning arrows against it.  
Soon, it was on fire.

He went back to controlling the gulf, and saw that the West fort wasn't managing to cope that well with the ship that was attacking it. Thankfully, he also spotted the "Feathered Kiss" running to their help.  
It was almost too late when he realised that one of the ships that had stayed behind was now heading directly into the gulf.  
While they were distracted with the other side attacks, they were making it for the harbour.  
-Quick, to the pulleys!- he said to Alleras.  
-We can't pull them up unless they're doing it on the other side too.- reminded him the maester.  
-Damn!-  
He was right. They had to tell the people on the west side of the bay to lift the pulleys, otherwise it would all be useless.

Alleras blew in the horn again, but they were busy defending themselves against the ship, and no one replied.  
Meanwhile, the other ship was almost at the bay.  
_I should have lifted them before_, he thought. But he didn't want to risk damaging the "Feathered Kiss".  
If that ship managed to dock…

Suddenly he heard the distant sound of the horn of the West Fort.  
-Yes! They did it!- exclaimed Alleras –To the pulleys!-  
_They met the dragon fire_, he thought, _now it's time they taste its fangs._  
A dozen men went to pull the rope that started the pulley mechanism.  
He and Alleras joined them.

It was heavy, and the weight of the water made it even heavier, and the rope scratched his palms: he was squashed between a sweaty man and a busty woman, but all that didn't matter. The rush of adrenaline seemed to give him a new strength.

He heard, before seeing them, the row of spikes emerging from the water. It was a bit lopsided, he noticed, since the people on the west side of the gulf were lifting them more slowly, but it was dangerous all the same.  
The ship went on.. and stepped right on the spikes.  
He saw their points sinking into the ship's hull, leaving long, deep cracks.  
They were so close he could see the splinters bolting out the wood.  
The helmsman made a sudden turn, too fast for the space they had and for the depth of the water.  
The ship turned, and the spikes plunged even more deeply in it.  
It turned again on the other side, trying to escape the iron points ravaging the hull.

It was too late: the ship was cracked from side to side, and it was already embarking more water than the sailors could manage.  
-It will sink.- Alleras said, incredulous.  
The ship tried a last, desperate manoeuvre, and it overturned in the water, right outside the gulf.

-Archers!- he ordered.  
They weren't archers, really, just farmers and peasants and shop keepers. They had bows, though: not as powerful as the great goldenheart bows of the Summer Islanders, but they could make do.  
A rain of burning arrows fell on the sailors trying to escape from the shipwreck.  
Some of them managed to get out with some smaller boats, but instead of going ashore, they hurried to the ship that was still lingering behind.

The ship that had attacked the west was chased back by Khalaya's arrows: the two remaining ships got closer to each other, far from the reach of the bows and the trebuchets.  
-Do you think they're going to attack again?- Alleras asked. –We don't have any more munitions, nor pitch, nor black powder.-  
-I don't know. Maybe not. We're not worth the risk, they know it.-  
-But do you know who that ship belongs to?-  
He cocked his head:- To whom?-  
-Look for yourself.- said Alleras, handing him the spyglass.

One of the ship, the one that had fought Khalaya, was just an ordinary galley.  
The other, though, was fearsome: its hull and its deck were painted in dark red, and it looked like it was soaked in blood. Its single, high mast had black veils, and its banner was a red eye with a black pupil, beneath a black iron crown supported by two crows.

-Who is it?- he asked.  
-That is Euron Greyjoy, the king of the Iron Islands.- Alleras grimaced -He's a mad man.-  
He shrugged:- All Iron Islanders are mad, aren't they?-  
-Not like him, no. They say he's like a storm. They say he uses black magic and that he leaves behind him a trail of death, and blood and destruction.- Alleras frowned –He raided even Oldtown. He sold slaves Essos. And I suppose he's not a man that accepts to be beaten on his own field.-

Meanwhile, the ships were parting.  
The galley had taken on board all the living men that had survived the destroy of the other ships; it headed east, far from Foul Island.  
-They're leaving!- he exclaimed.  
_Maybe it's over and we all survived,_ he thought. _Maybe…_

But his hope was short-lived. The red, lean, terrifying galley headed straight into the bay.  
It seemed to him that it moved much faster than the other longships.  
He saw a pitch projectile being launched from the West Fort, but with a hasty turn, the ship avoided it.  
It got to the entrance of the gulf, where the other ship had sunk.

The red ship pushed it aside with long poles. The spikes had plunged so deep inside the ship's hull that they were all discarded and carried away with the relic, leaving full scope to the red galley.  
He commanded another volley against the ship, but without the pitch or the black powder it didn't do many damages. And soon, all the arrows were gone.  
On the West Fort they were probably facing the same problem, since they stopped shooting too.

The ship was almost at the shore: it was so close he could see its name, "Silence", painted on the hull, and he saw the figure on the prow, a woman with the mouth carved out.  
The sight made him shiver.  
Accordingly to its name, no sound came from the galley: nor screams, or orders, or the voices of the sailor as he had heard for all the battle.  
Somehow, that frightened him even more.  
At the same time, he realized that he had no choice.

-We have to go and fight them on the shore. That's when they will be most vulnerable.- he announced.  
Alleras' face went very still:-They're Ironmen.- he said –They'll crush us.-  
-They'll crush us anyway. – he told him impatiently -What choice do we have?-  
Alleras took a deep breath: -None.-  
He could see the panic in the young maester's eyes, as much as he was trying to hold it back.  
-You don't need to be part of the sortie, if we want to call it so. You should stay behind. Maesters are neutral, and they're valuable. Even if they capture you, you won't be killed. The worse that can happen to you is some days of imprisonment before the Citadel pays for your ransom.- he told him.  
Alleras' voice was just a little shaky when he answered:-No, I think I'd rather fight.-  
-As you wish.-  
He surely couldn't afford to talk him out of it. There weren't many able-bodied men left to fight the Ironmen, and he couldn't turn his offer down.

Alleras blew the horn to send the message to the other fort.  
He took a sword: it was probably too long for his arm, but he didn't have much of a choice.

He led the people to the shore, and told them to hide behind the rocks, so the Ironmen would be taken by surprise.  
The ones that were on the West fort arrived too: for the others, in the North and in the South, he'd have to wait.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Sam.  
-Here- the young man told him, handing him an axe – thought this would serve you.-  
The axe was definitely better than the sword: more stocky and balanced, he felt it more apt to his arms.  
-Thank you, my friend.- he said –Where's Mara?-  
-I don't know. She was behind me when we were descending the cliff.-

He looked at them the people of Foul Island, all crouched next to the boulders.  
The grown men had always been few on the island, at least after the first raid four years before. Now it seemed to him that there were hardly any.  
He could only see boys, and women, girls, old men.  
_This is folly. We can't do this. They trust me, and I'm sending them to slaughter._  
And yet, what choices did they have? Death or slavery. It was probably the women who would have it worst.  
He looked for Mara in the crowd again, but couldn't find her. She would probably rather die with a sword in hand than being stripped out of her life and her children.

The galley had touched the shore, still in that unnatural silence.  
It was time.

-Foul Island!- he boomed, running towards the invaders.  
He heard people screaming behind him, and almost instantly they surpassed him, faster on their long legs than he was on his short ones.  
He finally found himself in front of one of the Ironmen: he cut the man in the belly, and he fell with a silent scream.  
_He has no tongue_, he realised. He looked around for a split second and noticed how none of them were talking or even screaming.  
_They're all mutes. "Silence"._

He had no time to think about it, since he was attacked by another man, but hit his legs with the axe, opening large bloody gashes that made the man fall.  
He found himself in front of another man, and killed him, then another. He felt drunk.  
There was a deep cut on his left arm, he saw, but he couldn't feel it. _Battle fever,_ he realised.  
_And I know it_, he thought, _I know this feeling._

It seemed to go on forever. He was vaguely aware of the other people around him. It seemed that the Ironmen were fiercer, but they outnumbered them, so that each of the raiders was fighting against two or three islanders. And killing all of them, he realised, his heart sinking.  
And then he felt a weight on his back that pushed him down, and the ground rose up to smack his face.  
His axe fell from his hand. A strong grip rolled him on the ground, and he was turned to face a man with a patch on his eye and sickly blue lips that wrinkled in a ghastly smile.

-Seven Hells.- the man murmured, amused -Bugger me if this isn't the Imp.-  
He spit off blood mixed with mud and sand:-I'm no imp, but I'll be happy to oblige.-  
The man laughed.  
With one smooth movement, the Ironman blocked his hands with a piece or rope and handed him to another sailor:-Take him on the ship with the other prisoners, and see that he stays alive.-

**Thanks for all who left reviews! I love you!**


	12. Chapter 12

He was pushed on the ship, then led below deck.  
The ship inside was much bigger and labyrinthine than it looked from the outside.  
Eventually, he was shoved in a cell.

There were a dozen people already, all in fetters: mostly women, and some boys. He recognised Dorrel's daughter and Ben's son.  
Some of them were sobbing, others just staring blankly in the void.

The Ironman put his feet in iron manacles, that were secured to the ship's wall. He noticed, aghast, that there was crusted blood on them.  
Then he went away, and closed the door behind him.

He looked at the other people in the cell: none of them talked. There was nothing to say.  
It was over.  
Even in the brightest scenario, in which the other islanders put the ship on the run, they would sail away with their captors. And then…  
He shivered. He didn't want to think about it.

After the adrenaline rush of the battle, he started to feel the soreness of his legs and the pain from the cut on his arm.  
He wondered how the battle was going.  
He could only hear some distant sounds of the fighting, half muffled by the crash of the waves against the hull.

Were Mara, Sam and Alleras alive? Were Rosie and Leya and Ceryl safe with Alia?  
He guessed it was a good thing that none of them were there with him.

The cell door opened again, and Alleras was shoved in.  
The boy had lost his maester's chain and his tunic was ripped on the front, almost to his stomach.  
He was heavily bandaged underneath. He also had a broken lip, and blood on his chin.

-Alleras!- he exclaimed, when the sailor closed the door again.  
The maester looked very scared, as he let himself fall on the ship floor, holding his head in his hands.  
They stood in silence for a while.

He pointed at his chest:-Are you hurt?-  
Alleras lifted his head and only stared at him as if he was very thick.  
Only in that moment it dawned on him what the bandages were containing.  
-You… you have teats!- he said, suddenly putting together details like the boyish voice, the slender figure and the slim hands –You're a woman!-  
-So it seems.- Alleras said grimly.  
-But… why? Why did you disguise yourself as a man? To become a maester?-

Alleras didn't answer, only tried and sit in a different position, fetters clanking.  
He remembered the quest that brought the "Feathered Kiss "to the island.  
-Who are you? What game are you playing at? Why are you looking for a dragon?- he pressed.  
He (_no_, he thought, _she_) only sneered:-What game? I could ask you the same question. Do you think I don't know who you are?-  
-I don't know who I am!- he yelled.  
She raised her voice too:-Oh, sure! As if I could be fooled by these cheap tricks, Imp.-  
-What?- he said, blinking. _Imp, again_. _It can't be a coincidence_-What have you just called me?-

The door slammed open and another group of prisoners were shoved in.  
Alleras and he shut up at once.  
Among the newcomers, there was also Sally, who looked sad and defeated, much different from her cheerful self he had met weeks before.  
When the Ironman had finished to lock her up at the iron manacle, she held him by his arm and almost threw herself upon him.

-I pray you, set me free- she told him desperately –I will do anything you want, I promise. Anything!-  
The sailor pushed her back, looking amused and scornful. Perhaps he would have retorted something derisive, but he had no tongue. He went away, kicking the door shut behind him.

-Don't bother, Sally- said Dorrell's daughter, not unkindly –whatever you may offer him, they can take it anyway.-  
Surprisingly, Sally gave a broad grin:-I also know how to take a thing or two- she reached for a pocket in her dress, and extracted a set of heavy keys, held together by an iron ring –Not bad, eh?-  
They all looked incredulously at her for some moments, then someone began to hesitantly laugh.  
-Come on, we must be quick and go before that one comes back!- she urged, opening the manacles at her feet and passing the keys to Alleras.

When he had freed himself too, he took Sally's hand and kissed it:-My lady, you truly are an artist.-  
She shrugged modestly:- I know.-

When they had all got rid of the fetters, he took the keys. Then he slightly opened the door and looked outside. There was a dark corridor, but no one in sight.  
He gestured to the others to follow him.  
They couldn't risk to go on the deck: he could hear the sounds of the battle above him. It was too dangerous. But if they found a porthole in the hull, they could jump outside and swim to the shore.

They kept walking, took a turn left, then one right. Soon, they had no idea of where they were.  
-This ship is a maze.- complained Alleras in a low voice.

They climbed a set of stairs, and found themselves on the higher level of the ship.  
They heard some steps, quite close.  
-There!- said Alleras, pointing at a wooden door.

Gingerly, they all entered. They closed the door behind them, and after a brief instant, they heard fast steps passing by.  
A woman whose name he didn't know blocked the door putting a large pot under the handle.  
Then he turned to see where they were.  
-This must be the kitchen.- Sally said.  
She was right: it was a long, narrow space, with a long table and several stoves.

And there was a window too, he saw, or rather a hole to let the smoke out.  
It was still big enough to jump out.-Hurry, let's go.- he urged, while Alleras kept the porthole open. It was too high for him to reach it.

The youngest boys and girls jumped first: he saw them falling in the water and re-emerging a moment later, then dog paddled out of sight.

A noise at the door made them startle: someone was trying to open it.  
As fast as they could, the remaining people dived in the water: Sally jumped out last, and swam swiftly away.  
Meanwhile, somebody was trying to kick the door open.

-Your turn.- Alleras said –Go.-  
_Can I swim at all?_  
He wasn't sure. The water looked dark and dangerous.  
It could not be very deep, he thought, they were close to the shore.  
_Still deep enough to drown a dwarf._

-What are you waiting for?- Alleras urged him.  
-I… I'm not sure I can swim…- he confessed.  
-What?!-

They heard a crack coming from the wooden door.  
-Quick, here.- Alleras opened one of the cabinets and pushed him in, then closed it.

A split instant later, he heard the door opening.  
Someone walked in. He could hear the sound of their boots pounding on the ship's floor, making the beams squeak. He had never been so aware of the sound the air made while he breathed to the wreck of his nose.

He wondered where Alleras was.  
The men made some clacking, inarticulate noises.  
Then they started opening the cabinet doors.  
He heard they were opening one far from him than slammed it shut again. Then another closer.  
Then another, closer again, until he was sure they were at the one right next to where he was.  
He was squeezed between a pot and the wall and had no means to run away unseen.  
_They're coming_, he thought.

Suddenly he heard a loud cracking noise. The ship seemed to shake.  
The sailors gave some startled noises, and quickly ran away.

He gingerly opened the cabinet and peered outside.  
No one was in sight.  
He got out from his hiding place, while Alleras gracefully leaped down from a beam near the ceiling.

-What happened?- he asked.  
-I don't know.- she answered.  
They went back to the porthole, but they found it was blocked.  
Another ship had hit the "Silence", and it was right on the other side of the wooden walls.  
-It must be the "Feathered Kiss"!- exclaimed Alleras, thrilled.  
-But Khalaya said they wouldn't fight…- he reminded her.  
-We must get out of here.-

They exited the room, and walked down the corridor.  
There was a lot of confusion, and fighting noises coming from the deck.  
So, they often had to take sudden turns, or run back to where they were coming from, to avoid the sailors running up and down the deck, bringing weapons, or arrows, or water.  
In one of these attempts, they pushed a door and found themselves in a richly decorated room in the aftercastle.

It surely was the captain's cabin.  
There was a heavy wooden bed, carpets, a table with carved chairs. Compared to the rest of the ship, it was nothing short of a palace.

Near the bed, he noticed a bottle filled with a blue liquid.  
_That explains those lips._  
The man that had captured him must have been Euron Greyjoy himself.

-Looks like someone is into blood magic.- Alleras said.  
In a small iron cage, he saw a black raven with a nail hammered through his heart.  
-What an amiable fellow must this captain be.- he commented.

There were also some exotic-looking objects: ornate Valryian steel daggers, parchments written in languages he didn't recognize and a phial that contained something that looked like blood.  
Thinking again, it was most likely blood.

A close noise came from the door.  
-Under the bed.- he whispered to Alleras.  
They both lied down under the wooden bed; however, no one came from the door and after some instants the noises diminished.  
As he crawled out, his foot hit something sharp.  
-What's this?-

He pulled out a heavy iron chest, covered in mysterious, incomprehensible signs.  
What could Euron Greyjoy be hiding? It was something that he wanted to keep close, he thought, but not in plain sight.  
He was ready for something gruesome, considering the rest of the room: but when he opened the chest, nothing had prepared him for what he saw.

The inside of the chest was stuffed with a soft cloth, and covered in silk: on top of it rested a huge egg.  
It was simply the most beautiful object he had ever seen: its scales shone like it was covered in gemstones, and seemed to catch all the light in the room. It was a deep, bloody red; when he lifted it, as delicately as he could, he saw with golden flecks and black whorls shimmering on the surface.  
It was very heavy, as if it was solid stone.

Alleras caressed it, as mesmerized as he was:-I knew it- she whispered –I knew it was close. I saw it in the flame. The dragon!-  
-Yes.- he agreed, in awe –It's so warm. It must be made of flames.-  
Alleras looked at him frowning:-It's not warm at all. It's cold as a stone.-  
He chuckled:-Are you insane? It's like there was a small fire inside.-  
Alleras looked at him more closely, studying his face as if he was seeing him for the first time:- Are you sure you feel its warmth?-  
-Of course.-  
She opened her mouth to say something else, but a noise from the outside of the cabin made them hide again. Alleras pointed under the bed, where a hatch opened in the wooden floor:- Let's try that way.-  
-We're supposed to go up towards the water, my lady, not down in the bowels of the ship.- he pointed out.  
-We're supposed not to get caught by those mutes on the other side of the door.- she objected -And I'm not your lady.-

She pulled a sheet out of the bed and wrapped the egg in it.  
-I'll carry it.- he volunteered. The warmth coming from the egg seemed to instil him a new strength and he didn't want to let it go. –Although I'm not sure I want to touch that sheet.- he pulled a face- I shiver at the very thought of what could have happened in it.-  
A shadow of a smile passed on Alleras' face.  
-Keep it close.- she urged him.  
-Aye, I'll keep it close and warm, like a good broody hen.-

Under the hatch they found a small stair, and they climbed it down.  
-That Euron mustn't trust his folks much, if he feels the need of an emergency escape.-  
-Conjuring black magic can go horribly wrong.- Alleras said –One can never be too cautious.-

The little wooden stair ended, and they found themselves in a small cabinet in the lower level.  
He opened the door, as little as he could… and found himself staring into a pair of puzzled eyes.

**So... there's the dragon! :) And we're almost reaching the end of the story.**

**Please read and review, as I love every comment as Sansa loves lemoncakes! Thank you!**


	13. Chapter 13

The door was slammed open and he discovered, in horror, that they were in a cramped long room that contained the right side of the oars and their oarsmen, little more than a dozen.  
They were all chained, he noticed, much like they had been as prisoners, but they were too close to them to run away without being held back.

They were grabbed and led to the middle of the room. He clutched the egg closer to his body.  
Once they were in the middle of them, though, no one touched them.

The man that had opened the cabinet door looked at one his companions and started to move his hands, making fast and complicated hand signs, underlined by sharp clacking noises.  
The other responded, pointing at them, then at the outside, then made some other signs.  
_This is how they communicate to each other,_ he realised.  
They were graceful movements, he thought, like a dance, and yet those strange, beast-like noises made it a creepy sight.

The dialogue soon became an argument, while other oarsmen started to gesture frantically, touching the others to catch their attention. He imagined it was their version of raising their voices.

They all looked worn, exhausted and very, very old.  
Most of them had greyish hair and heavily-lined faces. At first glance, they all looked like each other, although, observing closer, he could see that they had different skins, eyes, shapes, and they probably came from all Westeros and Essos. Their clothes wore little more than rags, torn on their backs where he could see whipping marks and crusted blood.  
_These are not sailors_, he realised_, they are slaves. And they all had their tongues ripped out._

He exchanged a glance with Alleras, who looked as confused as he was.

The man that had opened the door gestured the others to stop, then looked at him.  
He pointed at the fetters at his feet, then at the others, then at something above them.  
He could see in his eyes the eagerness to communicate, and how the lack of tongue frustrated him.

-Are you Ironmen?- he asked.  
Every man in the room made a clear, outraged denial sign.  
_Good_.

-Were you caught as prisoners, too?-  
Other confused signs.

The man in front of him raised a hand to calm them, then nodded.  
He had a maniac eyes, feverish and desperate, but it seemed to him that they were deep and intelligent too.

-Do you want to escape?- Alleras asked bluntly.

This caused mixed reactions: some of them eagerly nodded, others objected.  
Perhaps they thought it was too dangerous, or that he was pointless because they risked to be caught again (and he imagined it would have been even worse), he couldn't understand.  
They started to discuss more and more violently.

The man in front of him grabbed him by the shoulders and nodded vigorously.  
_I don't care what the others are doing, he's trying to say, I want to get out of here._

-Give me the keys.- Alleras said.  
She unlocked the man's fetters, then raised the keys over her head.  
-Those who want to stay, stay. For those who want to escape, here are the keys. If you want to take your revenge against Greyjoy, there's a battle out there, and we can still win!-.

Then she tossed the keys to them. The men started to argue and tried to steal the keys from one another.  
-Let's go.- she said.

They ran away from the oarsmen, while the silent man followed them.  
The dragon egg was heavy on his arms, yet he still wanted to carry it himself.

-We have to go on the deck.- he said –There's no point in wandering in this ship. We must go outside and try to jump out.-  
-But there are hundreds of people on the deck! They will see us!- Alleras objected.  
The silent man gestured something that they couldn't understand.  
-What? What are you trying to say?-  
He sighed, frustrated, then gestured them to follow him.

He led them to a cabinet, and when he opened it, they saw there were helms, breastplates, hard-boiled leather jerkins. All of them were rusty, broken, or partially discarded.  
The man quickly wore a half helm with a big hole on one side, and covered his rags with a jerkin, then gestured them to do the same.  
Anyone who looked at them twice could understand that they were not Ironmen, he thought, but in the confusion of the battle they could hope not to drive attention to themselves and make it for the shore.

-You know- he said, as he reached for a huge full helm whose visor didn't close properly–perhaps bringing you with us wasn't a half bad idea.-  
The man shrugged. The gesture reminded him of someone, but he couldn't tell of whom.

They went outside on the deck, where the battle was raging.  
The "Feathered Kiss" had rammed the "Silence" and the sailors were trying, so far unsuccessfully, to board it.

They tried to walk towards the closest rail. They were almost there, when one of the Ironmen grabbed Alleras by the collar of her tunic.  
The silent man tried to punch him, but the man only pushed him on the floor as if he was a weightless rag doll.  
He took off his helm and smashed it with all his might against the man's stomach. The Ironman doubled up with pain, but at that point the others had become aware of their presence.

Soon, they were surrounded.

A man reached out for Alleras, but in the moment he touched her, an arrow went through his skull.  
He fell onwards: behind him he could see Khalaya with the bow still in her hands.  
The Summer Islanders had managed to break through the first line of defence of the Ironmen and to board the ship.

Khalaya offered a hand to Alleras to help her rise.  
-I thought you wouldn't want to risk to go into battle.- Alleras said. -You said you couldn't risk to lose your ship.-  
-You know -Khalaya replied -My ship is not the only thing I wouldn't risk losing.-  
Alleras smiled:-Thank you Mother.-  
They hugged each other.

-She's your mother?- he exclaimed, incredulous.  
-You should go ashore.- Khalaya urged him when she and Alleras parted.-Greyjoy would kidnap you and ask for a ransom.-  
-Why?- he asked -Who would pay for my ransom?-  
She and Alleras exchanged glances.  
-I'll explain you later.- the latter said -There's no time now.-

He picked up the dragon egg from the ground and walked to the plank. The silent man followed him.  
When he reached the shore, he found himself in the middle of another battle.  
There were bodies on the ground, half covered in blood and sand.  
The islanders were still fighting against the Ironmen.  
_We're winning_, he realised.

The arrival of the Summer Islanders had turned the tables of the battle.  
He couldn't feel the rush of adrenaline as he had felt earlier leading the first charge, though.  
He looked around, searching for familiar faces.

Finally, he saw Mara: she and Sam were fighting against an Ironman, knee deep into the water. The man's back was turned to him, so he picked up a sword from the ground and stuck it through his back. The sailor collapsed with an inarticulate groan.  
-You're alive!- Mara exclaimed, and embraced him tightly. She was half-covered in blood and dirt, but it didn't really matter.  
-Are you hurt?- he asked, noticing bruises and scratches on her face and on her arms.  
She shook her head:-I'm fine. Sam was amazing. He saved my life half a hundred times.-  
Sam laughed:-Not really.- he said, but looked quite proud nonetheless -Mara went warning Khalaya when they took Alleras.-  
-Did you know that Alleras is a girl?- he asked.  
Mara smiled:-I could tell.-  
-How?-  
She shrugged:-Her hands. And her neck. What happened to you?-  
-I was taken prisoner, but I escaped.- he noticed the silent man approaching them.-Oh there he is. I don't know his name, his tongue was ripped off. But he helped us and...-  
He stopped talking, noticing that Mara had gone very pale and looked at the silent man as if she had just seen a ghost.  
-Evan?!- she said, incredulously, stepping closer to him.

He didn't have time to answer.  
A hand grabbed Mara from her hair, and suddenly a blade was pressed against her neck.  
She tried to jerk away, but a strong arm was holding her.  
-Drop you sword, Imp.- said the rasping voice of Euron Greyjoy -Or your wench dies.-

He let the sword fall at once. He gestured towards Sam and the silent man to be quiet.  
-Leave her alone. It's me you want. She's naught to you.- he reminded him, trying to sound as calm as possible.  
-Aye, she's naught. Might as well kill her. How would you like that, Imp?-  
His blue lips were curled into a maniacal grin.  
_He has just lost everything_, he realised, _he's desperate._

-Leave her be, and I'll yield.- he proposed.  
His blade pressed harder against her neck, opening a thin cut in her skin.  
Mara was as still as a stone.

-You yield!- the Ironman laughed bitterly -And what about the Summer Islanders?-  
-We'll negotiate the peace- he said, stepping towards him.  
-I don't negotiate peace with an army of women, crones and freaks.- Greyjoy spat out -I need blood. A sacrifice. And I'll have it now.-  
The muscle in his arm contracted to sink the dagger.  
-No!- Sam exclaimed, and the silent man let out an inarticulate moan.

They heard a shrill cry, and Greyjoy let go of Mara at once.  
A boy had jumped on him and bitten his hand.  
-Ceryl!- Mara cried desperately.

Greyjoy tossed the boy on the ground and raised his hand to hit him.  
He moved instinctively, grabbing Ceryl and shielding him.  
He almost didn't feel the blow on his head: he only saw the water, closer and closer, and then only dark.

He dreamed about going underwater, and trying to breathe, and he felt the water filling his lungs.

He saw a stone bridge, and men of stone reaching for him and pulling him under again; he saw a fire, erupting from a fanged mouth, melting the creatures around him and turning him into fire too, but he felt no pain. He dreamed of flying over the Seven Kingdoms, breathing fire, water evaporating under his touch. And when the dream was over, and he felt the world coming back to life around him, Tyrion Lannister opened his eyes.

**So, we're at the end.**  
**The next will be the last chapter!**  
**Thanks so much to The Mad Reader and Maya Serena for leaving comments! *hugs***


	14. Chapter 14

**Final chapter! Have fun!**

It all came back to him at once: the battle, the dragon egg, his time on the island, and before the shipwreck, the Second Sons, the Queen, his father, all his life.  
_How could I forget?_

Tyrion looked around him and found he was in an unknown room, but for some reason it felt oddly familiar.  
The dragon egg was in the bed beside him, beautiful and warm as ever. He spent some moments staring at it. Even if he was not a child of four anymore, and he had seen Drogon in action more than once, there was still something about dragons that never ceased to mesmerise him.  
Then he stepped out of the bed and scooped it up.

When he waddled out, he realised he was in the island's inn.  
Downstairs, he found that the common room was full of injured people, laying on the hay scattered on the floor.

-Nemo!- called many.  
-How are you?- asked him a man with an arm in a sling.  
-They said you were badly hurt.- a girl said.  
He was puzzled:-No, I'm...er, fine.-  
What did all those people want from him?

-Good to see you on your feet at last. Wait there.-  
It was Alleras' voice: she wasn't dressed as a maester anymore, but still wore a man's clothes.  
She finished bandaging up a man's head, then walked to him.

-How do you feel?- she asked, checking his eyes closely.  
-I'm feeling very much myself, thank you.-  
She raised a finger in front of his face and moved it from left to right and back again.  
-What was that for?-  
-Just checking on your reflexes. Are you feeling dizzy when you walk?-  
-No, I'm fine. I've just had an epiphany about my identity.- he looked at her intently, noticing for the first time her eyes and her widow's peak of a nose – And I believe I've just had another one about yours. One of the Sand Snakes, I presume. Obara, perhaps?-  
She smiled:- Sarella.-  
_Sarella, Alleras. Of course.  
-_You look just like your father.-  
If he had remembered about Oberyn and the Dornish before, he would have recognised her at once.  
There was a hint of sadness in her dark eyes:-You're not the first that tells me so. I gather you've recollected your memories at last.-  
-I have.- he confirmed -Why did you leave the egg with me?-  
-We realised that your health improved when you had it near. There seems to be a connection between the two of you.-

-There you are!- Sam interrupted them, arriving -How are you feeling, Nemo?-  
-You can call him _Lord Lannister_ now.- Sarella said -Looks like hitting his head and nearly drowning worked miracles.-  
-Tyrion will do.- he replied -Did everyone on this island know about my identity except me?-  
Sam laughed:-Aye, pretty much. No, really, just me, Sarella and Khalaya.-  
-Where is Mara? Are the kids fine?-  
He was surprised not to see her there helping them.  
Sam and Sarella looked at each other uneasily.  
-Yes they're all fine. She's at home.- Sam said eventually -with her husband.-  
-Oh.-

He had almost forgotten about that part.  
The silent, grey-haired man with maniac eyes had looked like an old man to him, but thinking again it was probably just the harsh life on the "Silence" that had made him grow old before his time.

-He's not well, you know.- Sarella told him.  
He cocked his head:-How? Was he injured in the battle?-  
Sam shook his head:- No, it's not that. He often has a fever... it goes away at times, but it comes back. And then he is... well, not the man he once was, apparently.-  
-Sometimes he just stays in silence, staring at the void, forgetting about what he's doing.- Sarella said, sadly -He gets upset for no reason, and starts to scream, and make those noises… When he has one of these crisis, it's very difficult to calm him.-  
-And what about Mara?- he asked.  
-She's doing what she can. She asked for out help, but we don't know what to do. It's in his mind. The fever part, she has more or less under control, but everything else...- Sarella shrugged -I guess it will take some time.-

He nodded.  
-What about the Ironmen? What happened after I passed out?-  
-Mother took Greyjoy as a prisoner. I was afraid he was going to kill him there and then, but she stopped herself just in time.- Sarella said.- There are also other prisoners. They're on the "Feathered Kiss".-  
-And I sent a raven to Queen Daenerys, told her about you and the battle.-Sam added -Turns out she looked for you everywhere, fearing that you were dead. We'll be meeting her in Oldtown in two days, to deliver her the prisoners. And I hope I can convince her to come to the Wall, to fight the wights.-  
-What about the dragon egg?- Tyrion asked.  
-We'll give it to her as well.- Sam answered -Maybe in exchange for her help. She's the only one who can make it hatch, anyway.-  
Sarella smiled in her own enigmatic way:-Oh, we'll see about that.-

Tyrion wanted to go to Mara's house and talk to her, about his memories, the battle and about the night they had shared, but then he thought better. The situation was probably already complicated as it was, without him interfering. The last thing she wanted to see at the moment was probably him.

He went to the harbour instead, and found that it was almost completely destroyed by the fire.  
Also the houses closest to the shore were damaged, but everywhere there were people working to fix them. The bay was full of the rests of the relics, and outside the village pyres were built to burn the corpses.

As he walked in the village, he was puzzled to see how many people greeted him, asked him how he was, congratulated with him about the island defence.

He wondered if they knew about his identity.  
It seemed to him that they didn't. They kept calling him Nemo and patting confidentially on his shoulders.

If after the battle in King's Landing he thought how unfair it was that no one showed him gratitude, now he felt he was receiving too much of it: he had been outside for little more than an hour and he had been invited to have dinner at their house by at least ten people, his right hand was numb from all the shaking, and a woman had given him a big pie that he didn't know where to put.

In the end, he managed to detach himself from the crows and, almost without realizing where he was going, he found himself in front of Alia's house.  
When the old woman opened the door, he was almost knocked off his feet by Rosie and Leya that rushed to hug him.  
-Nemo!-  
Leya let out a cry of delight.  
He held them both, juggling with the egg and the pie, relieved to see that both of them looked good and unharmed.

-We stayed in the goat's cave for soo long, and then Ceryl ran away…-  
-I touched goat's poo.- Leya whispered seriously in his ear.  
-…and I wanted to catch him and tell him to come back, but Alia said we shouldn't, and then…-  
-Little balls of poo.- continued Leya, measuring a tiny amount of air with her hands.  
Kerr, from a corner, greeted him waving his hand.

Thankfully, Alia arrived and took the pie from his hands.  
-I'm glad to see you awake.- she said –Rosie, be quiet for a moment.-  
Rosie managed to interrupt her tale for some instants, and they sat at the table while Alia cut the pie in slices.  
-Did you wash your hands after all that poo touching?- Tyrion asked Leya, who was climbing up the chair to sit on his lap.  
She nodded enthusiastically while he handed her a slice of pie, which turned out to be delicious.

-When are you coming back?- asked Rosie, in between bites.  
Tyrion sighed:- I'm not coming back to your house, sweetling. I have to go away. I'm leaving on the morrow.- he told her.  
She was outraged:-Why? Where are you going?-  
-Because I remembered who I am, and I have to go back home.-  
_And discover if I still have one._  
-What's your true name, then?- she inquired, appearing sceptical.  
-It's Tyrion.-  
She rolled her eyes:- I preferred Nemo.-  
-Where is Ceryl by the way?- he asked, noticing his absence for the first time.  
Rosie shrugged:-He's at home, with Father.-  
-And why are you not there too?-  
She appeared uncertain, and eventually leaned towards him, as if to tell him a secret:-It's just that… I love him, and I'm glad he's back but… he's so _strange_.- she whispered.  
_As if I wasn't strange enough myself,_ he thought.  
–He can't talk, and those noises he makes, they're so scary. – she continued -And then at night he wakes up and screams and then Mother has to hold him like she does with Leya when she throws a tantrum.-  
-It happens to men who have been at war- Alia said, sighing glumly –I've seen it countless times.-  
He caressed Rosie's hair:- He just needs some time to readjust to his life.-  
-It'd be better if you were there, too.- she told him, looking at him hopefully.  
_I strongly doubt it._  
-I'll send you a gift from my house. What would you like? A doll? A pretty gown?- he said, thinking that that would bring a smile back on her face.  
But he was wrong:- I don't want a gift. I want you.- she pouted, crossing her arms on her chest.  
-I'm sorry, sweetling.- he said, hugging her.

In that moment, the door opened again.  
-Alia, do you have any valerian to spare…?- Mara stopped abruptly when she saw him. –Oh. Nemo. It's very, er… very good to see you. On your feet. Good.- she said, much more formally than she usually spoke to him.  
He stood up, Leya still clung to his neck.  
-His name is Tyrion.- said Rosie, with superiority. –He remembers now.-  
-Really? Oh. That's very… very…- she stuttered.  
-Good.- he finished for her, in a flat voice.  
-Yes. Just so.- she smiled uneasily.

She looked at him as if she wanted to add something, but then Ceryl walked in, holding the silent man by his arm.  
The boy waved at him grudgingly, while the man only stared at him.  
_Evan_, he thought, _that's his name_.

His eyes were shiny and disoriented and he leaned heavily on Ceryl.  
He looked slightly better than when he last saw him: he wore clean clothes, and his hair had been trimmed, although he still sported a grey and white beard that made him look like an old man. But he supposed that if he had cut that, he would have looked like a skeleton.

-Come on, girls- Mara said –Time to go home.-  
-I don't want to go home.- Rosie replied –I want to stay here with Tyrion.-  
-You'll see him on the morrow. Now, say goodbye and…-  
-No! I don't want to!- she yelled, clinging more tightly to Tyrion.  
-Rosie, please.- Mara implored her, her voice shaky.  
-Come on Rosie, I'll come and see you before I leave.- Tyrion promised.  
Mara blinked:- You're leaving?-  
-On the morrow.-  
-Why?-  
He laughed mirthlessly:-It's not like I have anything to stay for, do I? The island is safe, the enemy is defeated, and the brave tall knight in shiny armour goes towards the horizon, looking for new exciting adventures.-  
-Yes, I suppose so.-. He wish he had learned to read her black eyes, but he hadn't.

The silent man gestured him to pass him Leya, who was still in Tyrion's arms.  
Unfortunately she didn't seem to like the idea, and tried to hold on his shoulders.  
-Come on, Leya, go to your Father.- he urged her.  
She shook her head and started to cry.  
_Now, this is awkward._

Evan looked confused, then backed up with a surly expression.  
Eventually, Mara picked her up, and Leya hid her face in her neck; doing so, their hands brushed together, and she blushed and averted her eyes.  
_She can't even bear to look at me_. So much for the passion he thought they had shared. _Don't you ever learn, dwarf?_

She brushed Evan's arm. –It's normal, don't worry.- he heard her say –She always behaves so when she's tired.-  
_No_, he thought, _that's a lie. Leya never does that._  
The man nodded, uncertain.

-You'll come and say goodbye tomorrow, won't you? You promise?- Rosie asked Tyrion.  
-Aye, I promise.-  
They greeted Alia, then the family walked away.

He fell back on the chair, feeling suddenly exhausted. He clutched his dragon egg, founding his warmth comforting. Although, to be honest, sometimes it felt even too hot, and he had to wrap it in something not to burn his hands. _Just what I'd need now, a burnt hand. That'd be the icing on the cake._  
-I'm sorry boy.- Alia said.

On the next day, it was time for goodbye.

The sailors had to say goodbye to the islanders, thus putting an end to all the love affairs that had arisen in the last weeks.  
He realised he too had more people to say goodbye than he thought: to Dorrel, that thanked him profusely, and told him to come back, to Tarq, to Jonos, to Sally, that hugged him and then raised both her hands, giggling, to show him that she hadn't took anything this time.  
Alia wished him good luck:- I have a feeling you're going to need it.-  
Funny how in this piss-pot of a village he had felt more at home than anywhere else in his life.

He then walked to Mara's house with Sam and Sarella.  
He hugged Leyla and Rosie, who was sobbing, promising them that he'll come and visit one day.  
_A white lie_, he thought.

Sam gave Rosie a raven, that she immediately called Boo, and recommended her to take care of it so that it could send letters for her. That cheered her up.  
-And you will write to me?- she asked.  
-Of course I will- Sam assured –But you'll have to tell your mother to teach you to read.-  
Also Ceryl received a gift, from Sarella: a Summer Island bow, that he wanted to try at once.

Sam locked Mara in a bear hug that made her laugh, while he shook Evan's hand.  
He saw in his feverish eyes the doubt and an unspoken question, and looked away.  
_Don't ask me, my friend. You don't really want to know._

He finally found himself in front of her.  
-So… take care.- Mara said.  
-Yes. You too.-  
It was quite sad how awkward they were around each other.  
He wondered if he should embrace her, but after an embarrassed moment, they just shook hands.

She pulled Ceryl closer: -Come on.-  
-But mother…- he whined.  
Mara just gave him a stern look.  
-I wanted to thank you for saving my life and make that man with blue lips hit your head instead of mine.- Ceryl recited, as quickly as he could.  
He had to grin:-You're welcome.-  
Rosie threw her arms around him:-I love you, Nemo.- she muttered, holding him.  
-I love you too, sweetling.- he said, feeling a lump in his throat.

As he walked to the harbour in silence with Sarella and Sam, Tyrion felt as gloomy as ever. He didn't even know why. He had thought, the night before the battle, that maybe… _but now you know better, don't you?_

He wished he had his dragon egg with him. It was waiting for him in his cabin on the "Feathered Kiss", since Sarella had kindly agreed to let him keep it, despite their agreement.  
It was very suspicious (she had travelled half Westeros and faced unspeakable dangers to find it, after all), but he didn't really want to think about it. He felt the desperate need to have it close at time, so he surely wouldn't complain about the arrangement. He wondered what Daenerys would do with it once it would be delivered to her. Could she really make it hatch?

He was about to climb on the plank of the ship when he heard fast footsteps behind him.  
-Wait!-  
Mara ran on the dock, until she stopped in front of them, flushed and breathless for the run.  
-What… why are you here?- he asked.  
-I wanted to say goodbye… alone.- she answered.  
Sarella nodded. She and Sam walked on the ship and disappeared in the deck.

-So…- she said –who are you really in the end? A maester?-  
-A lord, actually.- he said, still wondering what could she want from him –That is, if I can still win back Casterly Rock. I'm Tyrion Lannister, the Imp.-.  
He had never liked that nickname, but now more than ever it left a bitter taste in his mouth.  
-A lord, and a Lannister, no less.- she smiled–I'm impressed.-  
- I was the Hand of the King some years ago. A disfigured monster, ugly as sin, bringing famine and disgrace, eating babies alive… you might have heard this kind of pleasantries.-  
She shrugged: -We don't hear much about politics here.-  
-Aye, I noticed.-

-I wanted to talk to you before. It's just that… with Evan, and everything…- she sighed –it was complicated.-  
-Is his health improving?- he asked.  
-I don't know. I hope so. I guess it's going to take a while.- she smiled bitterly –It's funny, I prayed for this for so long, and how he's really back and…-  
-… it's nothing like you imagined.- he finished for her -I know.-  
_Nothing ever comes back untouched_, he thought, _not me, not Lancel, not even Westeros… no one._

-But it will be fine. We'll be fine. I'll teach him to read and write, so at least we will talk again.-  
-That's a good idea.- he told her.  
-There's always a way, isn't it?-  
-Do you still love him?- he asked, before he could stop himself.  
She stared at him, and nodded:-Yes, of course.-

Then she took his hand:-I wanted to thank you. For helping us with the Ironmen, and helping me with the vine, and the children and…- she smiled- for everything, really.-  
As they embraced, he felt like a heavy boulder was lifted off his stomach. He breathed in the fresh scent of her hair, and almost felt like tears prickling on the back of his eyes.  
-You're not going to hate me for seducing you, now that your husband is back?- he asked, only half-joking.  
She smiled:-No. It was beautiful, and I don't care what anyone may say, I'm happy we did it.-  
He frowned, suddenly worried:-You're not with child, are you?-  
-I'm a healer, remember? I can brew moon tea.- she thought about it –Although I wouldn't mind a kid with your wits. And your eyes, if possible. Either colour is fine.-  
-You already have a child with black eyes.- he reminded her.  
She looked at one of his eyes more closely:- But it's not black, is it? It's more a very dark purple…-  
-But…- the question was choking him, and he had to call all of his courage to speak it –what if it's a dwarf?-  
She laughed:- Yes, well, that might be difficult to explain to Evan.-  
Tyrion could almost hear his father's voice "You were lucky enough to be born a Lannister. Had you born a peasant you would have been shoved down a well like all deformed babies.". He shook the voice away.

He caressed her hand, trying to find a way to voice his thoughts:-I understand that you are married, but… in another life, I would have… asked you to…- he groped for words –to…-  
-In another life- she interrupted him- I would have said yes.-  
His father's voice, again: "…an ill-made, devious, disobedient, spiteful little creature full of envy, lust, and low cunning..".  
She smiled again, almost apologetically, and he was about to tell her goodbye for good, but the word stumbled out of his mouth before he even realized he was speaking:-Why?-  
-Why what?-  
He took a deep breath:-Why me. Why did you choose to bed a noseless, disfigured, destitute dwarf, of all people?-He remembered that when he had forgotten about his identity it didn't seem very important. He didn't find strange that she would desire him, and that the islanders respected him. It all felt very natural. But now it made no sense.  
She chortled, uncomprehending, then she saw his face:-Gods be good, you are serious!- she exclaimed, incredulous.  
-I fell in love with you because you are good, and smart, and funny. Because you think in a different way than most people do. Because you care about people and you are brave for them.- She cupped his cheek –Because you are yourself.-  
He pulled her closer: -Then come with me.- he told her.  
-You know I won't.- she sighed.  
-But I need you.-  
She shook her head:-No, you don't.-  
They kissed, for the last time, and Tyrion thought how he wished it could never end.  
But it had to, eventually.

-Tyrion, we have to go or we'll miss the tide!- yelled Sam from the deck.  
He reluctantly parted from Mara, and climbed on the plank.  
He turned around once more: -Is there anything that I can do for you?- he said –Being a lord, and a Lannister, and all that?-  
-Now that I think about it, yes.- she answered –Don't start a war. That'd be nice. We had enough of that around here.-  
He grinned and nodded.

The ship set out and he stood on the deck until the island was just a dot in the middle of the sea.

When he went to his cabin, he opened the chest to look at the dragon egg.  
He could help being mesmerized by its black and golden flecks shimmering on the red surface once again.  
It seemed to him that it had become even warmer than usual.

As he stared at the ever-changing scaled surface, he thought about what Mara had said to him.  
For all his life he had thought that being a Lannister was the only luck he had at his birth.  
His father had always told him how babies like him, if born among peasants, were left to die in the woods or pushed down a well.  
The idea that he could have been lying never crossed his mind before.

Tyrion had thought that Penny, the poor, sweet girl that had died of pale mare in his arms in Mereen, had been a fool for her faith and her optimism. She used to always believe, and expect, the best of people.  
He used to think that that was because she was just a green girl, still full of dreams and illusions.  
Maybe that was true, he thought: but now for the first time he wondered how she could have grown with her illusions. Her very existence, just like that of all the dwarfs that he had met of heard of in his life, was the proof that they were never left to die by her parents.  
And neither Mara, or Alia, who cherished her lame grandson, or anyone he had met looked especially inclined to shove babies down wells. _Except Tywin Lannister, perhaps._

Tyrion had always thought that he had to earn his right to live, to be up to what was expected of him as part of his most ancient and noble house.  
But perhaps that had been his curse in the end?  
Would have he been happier if he had been born a farmer, far from Tywin Lannister and his unrealistic expectation that had led to ruin both his siblings?

_If I hadn't believed that my only worthily asset was my money, I wouldn't have doubted of Tysha._  
He felt a pang of guilt and anguish at the thought.  
_How could I believe such a blatant lie for all those years?_  
It seemed so absurd now.

_"Wherever whores go" is not a clue_, he realized. His father had no idea of where Tysha was, neither he cared. Moreover, now that he thought about it, there was no reason to believe that she had become a whore at all.  
He wondered why he never realized that before: perhaps he was too scared to really wanting to find her.  
But now he felt he had to. For real. Because it was the right thing to do.  
He had to track down his father's steward in Casterly Rock. He hoped the man was still alive.  
Otherwise, he would ask at the village, at inns, at harbours.

_I can do it, he realised. If there's anyone that can find her, it is I._

He didn't know if this sudden awareness and determination came from the battle he had faced, or Mara's words and her kiss on the deck, or the heat of the dragon egg in his hands.  
But now, for the first time, he felt like he truly know who he was.

That night, he dreamed of fire.

He was a flame, ethereal and incorporeal but real and dangerous all the same. He flew over land and sea, and saw golden lions, horses made of fire, huge, transparent jellyfish and krakens on the bottom of the sea. He saw rocks falling into the sea and an enormous wall collapsing and crumbling down.

Tyrion woke up to a sharp crack, the loud sound of shattering stone.  
He winced, wondering if it was real or he had just dreamt of it.

On his bed, the dragon egg shook like a small earthquake.  
Its surface was not smooth anymore, he noticed.

The shell was crossed by a single, thin crack.

THE END

**Thank you to The Mad Reader, Maya Serena, Septembergirl19 and all those who left comments; and also to all those that read it but never commented (but if you do, I'd be very grateful!).**  
**Hope you enjoyed the story! :)**


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